


In A Brooklyn Townhouse

by baberainbow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aunt May is a Doll, Bucky Barnes loves his dogs, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Alternating, Peter has a formal and he's not worried at all one bit, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve and Bucky are Cool Damn It, Steve and Bucky are Old Marrieds Who Have Athletic Sex Too Often, and fun!, but responsible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-11-26 01:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baberainbow/pseuds/baberainbow
Summary: May sighs. "Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else in New York that I’d trust to make sure you’re safe with all this Spider-Man stuff going on. I mean, Iron Man’s not around. Is there some other superhero living in New York that can watch you? No!”Then she stops, her brow crooked in a V. Peter is confused for a moment as she gives him a Cheshire Grin. Then it hits him.Shit. He tries to web her phone away, but she grabs it and gives him a warning look. "Captain America! He lives in Brooklyn! That's not too far! And doesn’t he live with Sergeant Barnes? Two super soldiers!”"They don't like me!" he wails as she's putting the phone to her ear. She points a warning index finger at him as the phone rings. “And they’re probably cranky and gonna whine about cell phones and microwaves! Barnes is so scary, too! Not to mention,they don’t like me!”orSteve and Bucky offer to have Peter Parker stay in their home for the weekend when Aunt May has a last-minute trip out of state.





	1. Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> This happens sometime after Civil War, where Steve and Bucky can live in New York on their own. Peter is still in high school.  
> For this fic, Peter lives in Queens in the Sunnyside area. For the sake of this fic, Steve and Bucky have a townhouse in North Brooklyn.

“Well, about that....” Tony Stark says over the phone, a cacophony of noises crashing behind him. “I’m not in the country. Or the continent, more specifically. But you’re asking for just for the weekend?” 

May taps her fingers on the table. “Yes. But, I don’t mean to trouble you. It was a last minute ask anyway.” She doesn't want to sound disappointed. It wasn't the best or most foresighted move to ask Tony Stark of all people to last minute monitor her nephew. It's Wednesday evening, and she's trying to get an arrangement for Friday evening with one of the busiest, most important people in the world. 

Another loud sound rings through the phone. “Well, I don't _have_ to be there. I can still arrange for him to have a floor to himself. FRIDAY can babysit.” 

May shakes her head even though Stark won't be able to see. "No, no. I couldn't ask that of you. Peter had asked I call you first just to see. I'm certain his best friend has an extra bunk." 

"Alrighty then. I mean, the offer still stands. The kid called me three times about using one of my penthouses for a party. There's some event this weekend, right?" 

"Did he now?" she asks. Peter, who had been coyly on the ceiling listening in, slinks away. She tracks him, glaring at the ceiling until he's escaped. 

Stark laughs then clears his throat. "Oh, I wasn't supposed to say that. Well, give him my, uh, greetings. I gotta go." 

He's hung up before she's able to apologize for the random request. 

"Peter?!" she calls, putting the phone on the table. "What's this about using his penthouse?" 

"You must have misheard him. I asked about using his uh, lent mouse? Like lend me a mouse? For a keyboard?" he shuffles back into the kitchen. 

May rolls her eyes. "Well, not happening. He's not in the country. Continent. Whatever. You can stay at Ned's right?" 

Peter grabs a jug of orange juice from the fridge and waterfalls it into his mouth. He gulps and says, "Ned's got a family thing. His family is in town. They're all in his apartment."

May grabs her phone and starts searching through her emails, "Look, I'll just not go. Cheryl should have planned her own wedding better. Besides, it's your Winter Formal, and I should be here to help you get ready—" 

Peter rushes to a chair across from her. "You don't have to do that. I'm seventeen, May. I can handle living on my own for a weekend! I mean, c’mon! Your best friend from work is suddenly getting married. In Toronto for some reason, but that’s really cool! Besides, you’ve been working so much lately, and you deserve a vacation." 

“No,” May kneads at her temple. "And no, I can’t just...Not a chance. Not with this Spider-Man stuff you do. If something happens, and no one's here to make sure you're okay, I'd never forgive myself." 

Peter rests his chin in one hand and frowns. "May, you haven't had a break in so long. You deserve a break. I'll have other formals anyway. And, I mean. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know!" He grabs her hand and squeezes it. "You take care of me and others, but you need to take care of you. So go to Toronto, have fun at a Bachelorette Party, go to the wedding, do whatever people do in Canada, and just have a fun weekend!" 

May sighs. "Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else in New York that I’d trust to make sure you’re safe with all this Spider-Man thing going on. I mean, Iron Man’s not around. Is there some other superhero living in New York that can watch you? No!” 

Then she stops, her brow crooked in a V. Peter is confused for a moment as she gives him a Cheshire Grin. Then it hits him.

Shit. He tries to web her phone away, but she grabs it and gives him a warning look. "Captain America! Lives in Brooklyn! That's not too far! And doesn’t he live with Sergeant Barnes? Two super soldiers!” 

"They don't like me!" he wails as she's putting the phone to her ear. She points a warning index finger at him as the phone rings. “And they’re probably cranky and gonna whine about cell phones and microwaves! Barnes is so scary, too! Not to mention, _they don’t like me!_ ” 

“Hush!” 

"Rogers," comes from the other side. 

May's voice is sweet as artificial sugar. "Hi, Captain Rogers. It's May Parker. Peter's aunt. We met a month ago, I believe? The Stark Gala? I talked with you and Sergeant Barnes for a while.” 

Peter tugs at his hair and starts to climb up to the ceiling. She'll have to get him down herself if she thinks he's gonna let Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes check in on him for a weekend. Even if she used a broom to try and scrape him off, not happening. 

"Yes, at the Tower. It was very nice meeting you. Is Peter alright?" Rogers asks. 

May laughs. "Oh, yes! He's fine. I was just wondering, y'know, if it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to... I'm heading out of town for a weekend. Very last minute, I know. I don't think I'd feel comfortable with him being unsupervised with his abilities and all. If something happened to him, and well Mr Stark isn't around. If it wouldn't be too much of a burden to just check on him for the weekend, I’d be very grateful." 

"You're hoping I'd be able to keep tabs on him?" he asks, voice deep and serious. 

"Yes," she squeaks, clutching the phone. "If it's too much to ask, I can—" 

Rogers laughs gently, "Oh, Mrs Parker, it’s not too much to ask. Actually, he could come stay with us for the weekend. It'd be no trouble at all. We just finished renovating our guest room a week ago, actually. We've been waiting for a guest to come break it in, and Peter would excellent for that." 

May sighs in relief. 

“That’d be even better!’ she agrees. “Captain Rogers, that’s just too kind of you to offer.” 

"Well, I'd just need to ask, y'know, the other resident in the house. Can I call you back in a minute?" 

For a moment, Peter hopes that maybe Sergeant Barnes will take the phone and grit out a crisp "No," and hang up. He can only dream. 

May says an adoring, "Of course! Thank you, Captain Rogers." 

"I'll get right back to you," Rogers says, and the line ends. 

May gives him a look. "If you get any scuffs on that ceiling," she starts and doesn't finish the threat. "But, c’mon! Wouldn’t that be cool! To stay with them? It's Captain America; you'll be in such good hands! And, they have this townhouse in Brooklyn, I saw it in some column on Page Six! Real nice. And, look I know you're still thinking about Berlin and all, but remember how pleasant they were when we all met at that party. At Stark's gala? They're both very charming." 

“To you!” he wails. “You didn’t get in the middle of some Avengers throw-down! It was not pleasant at all! And, have I mentioned that Barnes is really scary?” 

“Oh, stop it. He was absolutely lovely,” she starts. "It's Captain America, for crying out loud. And his best friend and roommate is the Winter Soldier. They'd make sure you were safe, _and_ staying out of funny business. Probably more so than Mr Stark, god bless him, could." 

Peter has to give her that. "Okay, fair point. But! But!" he starts, but he cannot think of anything to say he hasn't already said to further his argument. 

Her phone rings for half a second, and she's already hit the answer button, "Hello?" 

"Mrs. Parker. We'd be happy to have him over. It's just Friday to Sunday evening, I'm assuming? Monday morning? Either way, it'd be no problem." 

Peter bangs his head against the ceiling. May swats at his direction in an attempt to shush him. "It'll be just until Sunday night. Thank you so much, Captain Rogers. He'll be spending most of Saturday night at a school event. It's his Winter Formal. That's another reason I wasn't too keen on leaving him unsupervised. He's been scheming to throw a party." 

Captain Rogers laughs again. "Kids, huh? We'll keep a good eye on him. It'd be very swell to have company over. I actually have this computer I've been trying to fix. If Peter could give me a hand, I'd really appreciate it." 

Peter whacks his head this time. Almost too hard. May startles but keeps her voice unfazed and composed, "I'll drop him off Friday at four. Thanks so much again! I really appreciate it.” 

"Of course. See you then," and the line shuts again. 

Peter's fate is sealed. He might as well get over it. Captain America and the Winter Goddamn Soldier are going to BABYSIT him for a weekend. 

"Why don't they ever say 'goodbye,'" Peter moans, dropping down to the floor on his tippy toes. 

May shrugs. "Don't be whacking that head of yours when I'm on the phone," she chides. "And if you're that upset about it, you can always come to the wedding with me."  
Peter would rather not be surrounded by adults he doesn't know, missing a Winter Dance where Michelle has implicitly implied— to the point it could be perceived as a threat— that she's expecting a dance from him, and, and...

"Fine. Fine. You're right. I mean, they're super heroes. I shouldn't be quick to judge. It might be cool," he concedes. 

May beams at him. "Thank you, Peter. I feel so relieved that I know you'll be in good hands, hon." She stands from her spot. "You wanna go get some dinner?" 

"Ooh! I’m craving really really bad for one of those chocolate shakes at BLVD, and the fries are so good! Can we go there?” 

“Okay, okay. God, what I’d give for your metabolism.” May grabs her coat that was hugging her chair and pats it for her wallet and keys. "Alright, kiddo. I’m cutting you off after two milkshakes, though.”

She kisses him on the forehead just to be sappy before she follows him out the front door.

*

Steve puts his phone back on the coffee table, and he nudges Buck’s rib with his elbow, all excited and hokey.

Unfazed, Bucky finishes his beer, and he shoves his knife back into its holder. He's been polishing some knives that weren't to his standard while listening to the game Steve's watching next to him. Now he’s done, he can watch the Mets get their ass handed to them. He settles back against the cushions, and Steve rests his hand on his shoulder. 

"We're gonna be fun. Cool," Steve says. "He's a good kid." 

Bucky shrugs his shoulders. "Uh huh." 

Steve stands and heads to the fridge. "It'd be nice to have someone over. She trusts us, Bucky, and we hardly know her. And it's the least we could do. I almost crushed him with a jet bridge." 

" _Almost_ ," Bucky reminds. "And I also threw a slab of metal at him. He's a tough fucker. Got more powers than we do, but we gotta watch him as though he’d need our help." 

“C’mon. He’s still a kid. I mean, remember that time you tasked Natasha with quote “friendly hellos” unquote when you were gone for a few days? It’s normal to want someone to keep an eye on someone, especially a kid with fuckin’ webs.” Steve grabs them another pair of beers, and he plops back down on his spot. Bucky flicks off the caps with his metal thumb. "I'm kinda excited, tell you the truth,” Steve says, beaming. He knocks his beer against Bucky’s and throws back a sip. 

"I know you are, pal. The kid's as reckless as you. You have similar tastes. I'm sure you'll get along just fine." Steve laughs and takes a sip. "What’s so funny." 

Steve twists the bottle in his hand. "It's funny because it was you that told her at that gala that we'd just love to help out whenever. You charmed the hell outta her, Buck. And now she's leaving us with her nephew. Don’t try to act all tough about it. I know you’re excited to have company over.” He nudges Bucky in the side again as if he’s trying to cajole the nonchalance outta him. “Besides, the only one in this house allowed to be grumpy is Miss Priss over there." 

Said Miss Priss raises her head and looks at Steve from where she's been sleeping in her bed by the fireplace. Bucky considers that's a fair assessment. Missy, their tri-pedal shepard mix, holds the sole honor of getting to be a grump in this house, and she's giving him a familiar look of disdain. 

"I'll feed you two in a minute," Bucky insists. She plops her head back down. “My sweet Missy girl. Where's my Rocky?" 

Rocky, a three pound, black mutt with an adorable underbite, scoots out from under the blankets he'd burrowed under on the adjacent couch. He bolts from his spot, scurries into Bucky’s lap, and shows his tummy to present it for rubs. Bucky obliges, scritches at his ribs with his metal index finger, and coos at his baby. 

Steve gives him a soft, sentimental kind of look like his heart’s about combust into a cloud of pink dust. Bucky babying their pets, Bucky being soft and unguarded, Bucky being just so sweet and loving like Steve knows he is, Bucky just being _Buck_ gets Steve all warm and fuzzy. 

“I know that look, hotshot,” Bucky murmurs, and he scoops Rocky into his arms and stands. “You’re as subtle as ever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got some mutts to feed.”

*

May dips her fry into Peter’s shake just so he squawks. “It’s like those peanut M&Ms, all chocolatey and salty. You’d like it.”

Peter tries it. He doesn’t hate it, but he’s fine eating his food like a normal person. “Are you gonna have to wear something like a bridesmaid’s dress? Is that a thing with last-minute weddings?” 

May shrugs. “I’m gonna bring my nice blue dress. The one from that Stark gala.” 

“Same one where you met Captain Rogers?” Peter adds. He sticks his straw through the shake, holds his thumb over the top, brings it up, and watches as the captured shake slops back down. 

“Same one. Well, that might be too fancy. I’ll figure it out,” she decides, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “It’s been a while since I’ve really gone out.” 

Peter looks at his aunt, heart heavy and full. “I want you to have a good time, May. You really deserve it. And, you can get me postcard or a keychain. That’d be neat.” 

May smiles at him, and she pats him on the cheek. “I will.” She gets a sappy look on her face, like she’s gonna pinch his cheeks. “I lurve you, Peter.” She sticks another fry into his shake. 

“I lurve you too, May,” he promises.

*

Their brownstone is spacious on the inside— as much as a brownstone in Brooklyn could be— but their backyard is pitiful. Steve typically takes Missy and Rocky on a walk an hour after their dinner before they settle in for the night. It’s still cold in February, so Bucky makes sure they have some balm on their feet to keep their paws warm against the snow. Steve will walk the two for a while to take the time to absorb the new Brooklyn he’s never really gotten used to while being tugged by a three-pound Rocky and three-legged Missy. Bucky fixed up his phone to have an application that has this radio program he likes, so their segments will be queued up for him to listen to while they walk. Something called Spot-iffy?

But tonight, Bucky joins him. He takes Rocky’s leash and is yanked eagerly ahead by the little force of nature. Missy, older and less inclined to pull, strolls alongside Steve like the good girl she is. Rocky’s finally worn himself out after a few minutes of tugging, so Steve and Missy catch up. Bucky keeps in front as they walk together to McCarren park, sometimes looking over his shoulder to make sure Steve is following right behind him. 

It’s dark out by the time they leave, and it’s gotten colder. Bucky slips his gloved hand into Steve’s as they make their way back home.

*

May knocks on the hinge of his open door. “You good?” she asks.

Peter looks up from his laptop and stops typing. “Yeah, just finishing a report.” 

“Okay, just checkin’,” she says. “What’s it about?” 

“Economics in the early twentieth century.” 

“Huh.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” 

She walks off. He can hear her turn on the television in the living room, flicking through the primetime shows before landing on some reality show she watches a guilty pleasure. 

Peter used to think about watching it with her, just in company. But, he realizes that sometimes May likes her own alone time. Just like how Aunt May could sit and watch him build a lego masterpiece or witness him absolutely _killing it_ in Black Ops, but it’d be weird. 

He hears her guffaw at something one of the leading ladies said.

*

“Put the baby outside,” Steve whispers as he steps out of his pants. Bucky throws his shirt carelessly on the ground and scoops up Rocky. He disappears down the hall, presumably to put Rocky on his favorite blanket pile on the couch. Steve hears the television in the living room turn on, and he smiles. They don’t want their dogs to hear them either. It’s a silly, neurotic thing that Bucky indulges him in.

Bucky kicks out his pants and boxers after he’s back in the room with the door shut. Steve’s undressed completely by then, kneeling on the bed with a shit-eating grin. 

“Oh boy, ‘s got you all smug?” Bucky croons as he rummages through the nightstand for some lube. He coats his dick with some slick, and he hisses as he rubs it over himself. He tosses the bottle to Steve who wets himself before he tests some fingers inside. Bucky watches, intense and his face hungry and wanting. “You gettin’ all ready for me? You want me?” he drawls, like it kills him to say it, so thick with the hunger for it. 

Steve sighs and nods, his shoulders drooping as he fucks himself. 

Bucky jacks himself, head thudding against the headboard as he watches.

*

“Dude,” Ned bellows in his ears. “ _Dude._ ”

They’re playing Black Ops Four. 

“Yeah, so I have to go live with Captain America for the weekend. It’s gonna blow,” he rants. “He’ll probably give me a bedtime. Make me stand for the National Anthem before breakfast. They might even kill me. Stuff like that.” 

“Doesn’t the Winter Soldier, like, live with him? They’re roommates or something?” Ned says back. He shoots a zombie in the head, and Peter whoops. 

“Yeah, but wasn’t that part of some agreement? Like for public safety or whatever? I don’t know which one of them hates me the most. Y’know, for that _thing._ ” 

“God, I wish Captain America would hate me,” Ned laments. “Or love me. Or know me. That’d be sick.”

*

“I’m good,” Steve decides, and he rises on his knees.

“Can I have you from behind, but can you just—” he starts, but he shuffles onto his knees and beckons Steve to turn around and face away. He presses his chest to Steve’s back. “Like this?” 

“Uh huh,” Steve agrees, and he relaxes back against Bucky’s chest. 

Bucky settles closer between Steve’s legs and fucks in. He grabs Steve’s arms to hold them behind his back like he’s being arrested, and he keeps his wrists there, locked. It makes Steve’s chest puff out, being tugged this way, and Steve’s dick bobbles in the air at each thrust, and he has nothing to grab at for purchase with his hands bound together by Bucky’s hold. It’s not the cuddliest position, but it feels good for them both. 

Just to tease, he nudges Steve’s ankle with his own as he adjusts the position, keeping Steve’s ass smug against his hips. Bucky licks on his neck as he bottoms out, tightening his grip on Steve’s hands to keep him upright in position. He takes his flesh hand and secures it on Steve’s hip. With his hands like this, he can help Steve fuck back on him, using his hands like reins to pull him back. 

Not only does it feel good, but Steve looks like a goddamn dream. Like this, his ass and chest sticks out better. He can look down and see his ass jiggle against his hips, and he can see the pinkness spreading all over his chest and shoulders. 

“Is this alright?” he whispers. 

Steve throws his head back, almost resting the back of it on Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah. Get me, Buck.” 

Bucky can’t refuse that. He starts fucking him, using his hands to help Steve meet his thrust in tandem. They both sigh at it, and they keep it going nice and steady. 

“That feel nice?” Bucky asks all sweet, slowly fucking him. “Baby, is that good?” 

The mattress squeaks under them. Steve gushes something unintelligible and flops his head down so his chin touches the middle of his collar bone. Bucky takes his hand up to cup and squeeze Steve’s left breast, smacking it a little to see it bounce. 

“Shit, Buck,” Steve croaks. “Mmm.” 

“Atta boy, atta boy. Fuck down on me,” Bucky rumbles as Steve presses his ass back on his own. “Sitting back on my lap and lettin’ me have it? Huh?” 

“Mmm,” he hums, all loose and sweet. “Get at me harder.” 

He mouths on Steve’s cheek. “Uh huh?” 

“Uh huh,” he asserts. “Get at me harder, Buck.” 

He tightens his hold on Steve’s wrists and fucks him hard, his balls smacking against his ass and the slap of skin loud in the room.

It’s not long before the swelling in his gut starts to bloom, his cheeks get red and hot, and that he starts to feel like a wild fucking animal. Bucky gets crazy in it, starts growling all guttural because deep in his chest something primal claws its way out of him and claims and needs and wants Steve so possessively and savagely. He grunts, “Fuck, Steve. Steve baby.” 

“You getting me? Huh? Getting all mean?” Steve grits out, goading Bucky. He’d never admit it, but he likes being handled, likes how Bucky is strong enough to keep him where he wants him, likes how Bucky can be as tough as he is gentle in bed, likes how Bucky will get possessive and grabby and utterly devoted to him in moments like this. Bucky likes how Steve can do the same: hold him down and kiss him silly and sweet just as easy. “Won’t even kiss me, so mean.” 

So, Bucky grunts at that and loosens his hold on Steve’s wrists. “You poor thing. Oh, baby. You wanna kiss me?” he cajoles, his hips still humping at a punishing speed. “Go on then. Get your fill, then.” 

Steve, with his arms free, reaches back for Bucky and kisses all sloppy on his neck. He’s thrown his head back to rest on Bucky’s shoulder, smushing his back to Bucky’s chest, and finally grabs hold of Bucky’s hair to steer him down and kiss him. 

He murmurs little ‘un, un, un’s’ against Bucky’s lips with each thrust. He sighs when Bucky settles one hand on Steve’s hip and the other on his breast. “Buck, it’s real good. You’re good to me.” 

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he hisses into Steve’s mouth. “Drive me up a goddamn wall.” 

Steve tugs at Bucky’s hair then pulls his lips away. “I wanna get on top of you. Lemme. I wanna get you,” he insists. “Don’t touch me, neither,” he says, just to tease with his shit-eating grin back. “Hold your wrists together, and see how it feels.” 

Bucky nods, pulls out, and collapses to the mattress behind him. He crawls up to rest on the pillows supported by the bed’s headboard and folds his arms behind his head, all relaxed. 

Steve crawls on top of him, all pleased with himself and fucks himself back on Bucky. His tits jiggle a bit with every time he fucks down, and Bucky’s got full view of the prettiest shade of pink spreading over his chest and face. “Oh, princess. Oh, you sweet, sweet thing,” he mutters, toes curling. 

Steve fucks down, his nails digging into Bucky’s chest as he supports himself. “I’m gonna cum all over you,” he says, almost dreamily without an ounce of shame. “I’m gonna.” 

Bucky curses and has to remind himself to keep his hands behind his head. Steve’s so goddamn _everything,_ and he’s got such a good rhythm. Bucky loves him, loves him so wholeheartedly and savagely, so ruthlessly and gently. 

“So go’n then,” he goads, trying to act tough. “Go on ‘n do it, then. I’m watching. I’m watching you show off, baby.” 

Steve bites his down on Bucky’s shoulder, and he stutters in his movements when he cums. It spurts on Bucky’s navel, up to his chest. He almost cums then, listening to Steve moan and sigh all sweet and spent. Thoroughly fucked and still hazy. 

“Goddamn. Oh, Steve,” he croaks. “Honey.” 

Blissed out, Steve winks at him, and he moves so languidly, almost like he’s drunk, as he climbs off of Bucky and gets on his knees, sticking his ass out as he mouths on Bucky’s dick. He keeps eye contact, the little devil, and kisses and kitten licks all over the head. He knows Bucky’s still rock hard, frustrated and worked up and is just so _sweet_ to kiss on his poor cock. Not suck it, just love it some. 

When he’s decided he’s done with his work, he slides up to Bucky’s face and kisses him all open mouthed and messy. “You wanna let go, too?” he whispers, all sweet. 

“Mhm, yeah. You gon let me touch you?” he says, raw and desperate. 

Steve kisses his nose all sweet and nods. Bucky grabs Steve’s ass and smacks it with one hand and jerks himself off with the other. It’s all wet from Steve’s spit and the lube, and the wet sound he makes stroking it is goddamn obscene. Steve kisses at him still, letting Bucky fondle and squeeze his ass until he finally cums, stars going off in his eyes and his head thrown back. It spurts all over his fist and some hair around his navel. 

He comes to with Steve kissing on his neck, saying, “Buck, you got it all over yourself,” all sweet and teasing. “I’m gonna have to clean you up.” 

Bucky about short circuits all over again.

He reaches for him and kisses him, tugs at Steve’s upper lip as sweetly and meanly as he can. “I’m sorry, baby. You poor thing,” he coos as Steve takes Bucky’s hand and licks the cum of his fingers like he’s chasing the sugary ice melting down the stick of a popsicle. “Poor baby.” 

After Steve’s done, he crawls up to lie down next to Bucky. He makes his shoulder a pillow and grabs his hand. “That was nice,” he remarks. 

“Mhm,” Bucky agrees. “You said that last night, too. And Monday morning. Oh, and Sunday night as well.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. It’s almost funny that they have sex on a daily basis and never tire of each other. In fact, it makes Steve love Bucky even more, makes his heart yearn for him even more, and makes him excited for the fact that they’ll be doing it again the next night. It’s always good.

*

“Fifteen minute warning,” May says from his doorway. She’s in her night-robe and has one of those green face masks on. “It’s almost eleven.”

Peter nods and says, “Ned, dude I gotta go after we finish this one.” 

May repeats, “Fifteen minutes,” as she walks off.

*

Steve takes a shower while Bucky changes the sheets and warms up towels for him and Steve in the dryer. He lays out fresh clothes for the both of them on their respective sides of the bed: clean boxers, flannel sweatpants, and two soft t-shirts. He dons his robe as he ventures out to the living room. He tends to the dogs: giving Missy her night time medication and letting both dogs out to sniff and mark their measly backyard one last time for the night. Once both pets are back inside and given a treat, he checks on the house security system. The dryer beeps just as he’s sure his security system is running and double-checked the locks.

When Steve steps out of the shower, Bucky hands him one the warmed towels, and he watches Steve dry himself. Then, he sticks his left arm out so Steve can catch it as it releases from its lock and detaches. Steve carries the vibranium over to the closet to put it in its case. 

As Bucky showers, Steve puts on his pajamas. He checks over the house one last time: turns off the lights, checks the thermostat, refills the dog’s water bowl, and makes sure Missy is comfy in her bed as he powers the TV off. He fills up two glasses of water at the kitchen sink before heading back to the bedroom. Rocky bolts in front of him, racing to his doggie bed on the side of the room by one of the air vents. Steve places a glass of water on Bucky’s side of the bed and then his own. 

As the shower squeaks off, he’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He whistles as Bucky steps out, drying himself and shaking his hair.

*

May pokes her head through his door. She’s washed off the green, and she’s got a tooth brush in her mouth. “Night, hon!” she says all garbled, satisfied he’s in bed.

“Did you lock the patio door?” Peter asks. 

“Uh huh,” she says, some foam spilling from her mouth. 

Before she found out about his abilities, she always gave him a confused side glance when he’d insist she lock the patio door. “You never know!” he’d say when she pointed out they live on the sixth floor of an apartment complex. “People are weird, May.” 

Now, with her nephew able to climb up walls and ceilings, it’s possible that anyone or anything would take the time to climb up to their patio.

“Good night, May,” he says again. 

“Night,” she says. Peter blows her a kiss, and she catches it and presses it on her cheek. 

Once the door is closed, Peter turns on his phone. He googles Captain America and reads the Wikipedia page. He’s halfway through the “Rescue at Azzano” section when his eyes are heavy. He shuts off his phone and closes his eyes.

*

Dried and ready for bed, Bucky crawls under the covers.

Bucky turns on the TV because it helps him fall asleep. It lets his mind clear up and focus on something else than the negative thoughts that tend to plague him as he falls asleep. Steve’s used to it. He flips it to some ghost hunting show because it’s silly. Steve lowers his head on his pillow and cozies under the covers. 

It’s probably gotten colder, he thinks. It makes his heart flutter: being in bed with Bucky, his dogs comfy and asleep, his home well kept and safe. Being warm in his own bed with the love of his life on a bitterly cold night makes him think that maybe all the pain, all the struggle, all the everything that led to this moment was all worth it. 

The pale glow of the television mixes with the green colors of the show, making Bucky look so beautiful and surreal. He’s drifting off looking at Bucky watching the TV. 

As the episode’s credits roll, Steve’s eyes fall heavy; he struggles to keep them open. Bucky yawns. 

“Should I keep watching Ghost Finders?” Bucky asks. 

“I don’t know, Buck. What if they find a ghost this time?” 

Bucky laughs. He clicks the TV off with his remote and drops it on his bedside table. He removes the pillow he’d been using to support his back and lies down, squirming to get comfortable. 

“I’m gonna clean the kitchen ‘morrow,” Steve whispers. “Then check the guest room. Get all the boxes outta there. Get it all nice.” 

“Mhm,” Bucky agrees. “Spick and span like your mother.” 

“Oof! Oof!” 

Rocky has left his doggie bed and jumps pitifully at Bucky’s side of the bed. Even though they got him those stairs at the foot of their bed that make it easier for him to walk up on his own. 

Bucky rolls and scoops him up with his hand and plops him down by their feet. He watches as Rocky curls into a little ball right by his left ankle and Steve’s right and snorts out a content little huff. It warms him that the little animal, once so skittish and scared, trusts them enough to keep him safe. Or maybe Rocky, the three pound mutt, thinks he’s keeping his beloved masters safe by sleeping in their bed. Well, that would mean Missy is leaving them to fend for themselves (which wouldn’t be too out of character. Missy has to guard her beloved fireplace. Bucky can’t blame her for that.)

Bucky fixes one of the blankets at the foot of their bed so it covers over him. He lies back down after kissing Steve on the temple and falls asleep, listening to his two sweethearts breathing. 


	2. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for a beta to proofread and give comments. Please let me know if interested!

“Honey, you gotta wake up,” May says, tapping him on the shoulder. She knocked on his door a few minutes ago to no avail, and now she’s getting a similar response. She pokes him in the cheek. “Peter.” 

Peter startles, legs tangled in his covers as he sits up straight and his hands posed for a fight. He calms when he realizes it’s May. She’s dressed for work but hasn’t made her face or done her hair. “Oh, it’s you” he says, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Just me,” she says, hands up. “Were you having a bad dream?” 

“I can’t remember. I think it was something about dinosaurs in a parking lot,” he gives her a puzzled expression as though she could decipher whatever the dream means. “Or was it just large birds? Something like that.” 

She offers a shrug. “Huh. That sounds neat.” May heads out of his room. “I’ll go put some bagels in the toaster for you. Those cinnamon swirl ones you like. Now, get dressed.” 

Peter fights the urge to fall back under the covers and close his eyes. But, he musters up the strength to sit up. He checks his phone for a minute even though there aren’t any notifications. He climbs out of bed and heads to his dresser, stepping on a random Lego on the way. “Shit, shit! Ow!” he starts, jumping on one leg. He’s been in battles with more devastating blows, but a freaking Lego can take him out of commission for a few seconds. “Shit!” 

When he’s dressed, he heads to the kitchen. May’s got the local morning show on, and she tuts at the weather while she smears cream cheese on Peter’s bagels. He pours himself some orange juice from the fridge, and May hands him the plate. She goes back to her spot on the couch, nursing her mug of coffee and bowl of Special K while she watches the TV. “It’s gonna be a high of 39° today, hon. Make sure you take a thermos with you when you walk to the station so your hands stay warm.” 

Peter could remind her that the weather doesn’t affect him anymore. He could go to school in a swimsuit right now and stay fine. But he says, “Okay. What’s the low gonna be?” 

“It says that at about 7pm it’ll be 22° with a chance of rain. Oof. Did you finish your paper?” 

“No,” he says, taking a thermos from the blue cupboards. He pours in some coffee and tears two packets of Stevia into it. “It’s due tomorrow. I’ll let you read it when it’s done tonight. Check for errors and stuff. I have this physics assignment due next Thursday if you wanna—” 

“I probably wouldn’t be much help, hon. Oh by the way, my friend Cynthia’s daughter is selling Girl Scout cookies. I’m gonna get a couple Thin Mints and some Trefoils. You want anything else specifically or is that fine?” 

“Can you get some Samoas?” Peter joins her on the couch and finishes his bagels. 

“Yup. You buying lunch again?” she asks. “I think I got some fives in my wallet.” 

“Yeah, but I have a ten. Thanks, May.” 

They watch the morning news together in a comfortable silence until Peter heads off, warm thermos in hand and appropriately bundled.

*

“Buck, the baby wants you,” Steve whispers, right in his ear. “It’s your turn.”

Bucky sighs. He can feel Rocky pawing all over his stomach, licking at his fingers. “I gotta get up then,” he says. He can’t if Steve’s got an arm around his waist. 

Steve peels off and turns onto his other side, stealing the covers that Bucky won’t be using anymore. “Hmm,” he sighs. 

“You pitiful thing,” Bucky tells Rocky as he sits up. “Poor, poor thing.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, and Rocky uses his staircase to get down from the bed and follow him downstairs to the living room.

Missy’s still in her bed, and she reluctantly stands to go out with her brother when Bucky beckons her over. He prepares some coffee as he waits on Rocky to start jumping at the door when he’s done. Missy does not play games when it comes to going outside in the morning: she does her business and promptly returns to wait by the door. Rocky takes his sweet time, re-smelling every spot his little nose finds and marking it until he’s satisfied. 

He feels the chill outside as he lets them back in and gives them a treat. Missy follows Bucky upstairs in a rare form of comradery along with Rocky, hobbling up the stairs. Bucky waits for her, proud of his sweet girl for venturing to see him. 

He picks up Rocky and holds him to his chest as he walks back into the bedroom and plops him down on Steve’s back. Rocky showers him with kisses everywhere his tongue can touch, and Steve blindly pets at him. Missy situates herself in her neglected upstairs bed. Bucky crawls back into his own, steals back some of the covers Steve’s hoarding, and he spoons up to Steve. Steve nudges his head back, so Bucky kisses his temple. He’s too awake to fall back to sleep so soon, but it’s warm and cozy sidled up next to Steve on such a chilly morning. He figures once he can smell the coffee he’ll head back downstairs and bring up two mugs so he can watch the morning news in bed with a warm, sleepy Steve waking up beside him.

*

“Have you been to Captain America’s house before?” Ned asks, overly eager. “Is it huge? Like a mansion? Or does he live at the Stark Tower? Ooh, or do all the Avengers live at the Compound upstate? Do you have a room there? I would do anything to live at that Compound, dude.”

Peter grabs his books from his locker. “No, man. I haven’t been to his house yet. It’s apparently a townhouse in Brooklyn. May said she saw something about on Page Six. And no, I don’t have a special room at the Avengers facility. I just live with May. It’d be weird if I lived with the Avengers; they’re all adults.” 

“But you’d live with the Scarlet Witch! And Black Widow! Having Tony Stark as a roommate sounds so cool, dude. Did you ever get him to let us use one of his penthouses for an after party? That’d be so dope. We’d be so cool.” 

“No, not happening. Especially if I’m being babysat by Captain America, aaaannd the most famous assassin in history. Besides, would people believe Iron Man lets all of his interns use his penthouses for school parties?” 

“He probably has more penthouses than interns.” 

“Fair point,” Peter concedes. “But no luck. I’m sure we can sneak into someone else’s party anyway.” 

They walk into first period Physics and sit together. Peter adds, “But, Ned. You can’t tell anyone I’m staying with them. People know I’m interning for Stark, but if they found out I’m staying at Captain America’s house, they’ll get suspicious. So keep it tight-lipped, okay?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Ned promises, raising his right hand. “I’m sure if I say anything some black vans will take me.” 

Ned’s phone bings, and he stops to look at it. Peter checks his SnapChat. 

“Is the Winter Soldier scary?” Ned asks, putting his phone back in his jacket pocket. “Like, some of his mission files are online, and dude, they’re brutal. But, like is he really scary in person?” 

“Why were you reading his files?” Peter asks, upset that he didn’t realize that information was out there. 

“It was right after the Washington DC thing. It was all over Twitter and Facebook. That dude’s badass as fuck. Tragic as well. But really badass.” 

Peter shakes his head. “I haven’t really talked to him. Apparently, both Captain America and the Winter Soldier are real tight with Aunt May because she talked to them at some Stark fundraiser a month ago.” 

“I wish I could meet them at a Stark fundraiser,” Ned says. “That’d be sick.”

*

“Slow poke,” Bucky quips when Steve catches up to him. He’s leaning against a light pole that faces one of their favorite spots for breakfast, and he even has the audacity to fake a yawn. “Feels like I’ve been waiting for years.”

Steve scoffs. “I stopped to tie my shoes. You’ve been waiting here for fifteen seconds.” 

“Fifteen seconds too long,” Bucky teases, and he jostles Steve in the ribs.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, would breakfast make it up to you?” 

Bucky nods, giving Steve wink. “Yeah, it might.” 

Steve heads over to the diner’s entrance, and he holds the door open. “After you, hotshot.” 

Bucky kicks off the post, and he heads inside, clapping Steve on the shoulder as he walks in. They settle into their typical sides of a booth, and they look over the laminated menus as though they don’t know what they’re going to eat. Bucky pulls off his running cap but leaves on his gloves. Steve unzips his jacket and settles against his seat. 

One of their usual waitresses fills up a mug of coffee for each of them wordlessly, but she asks, “Orange juice, as well?” 

Steve shakes his head, but Bucky says, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Same orders as last time?” 

“Yes ma'am,” they say simultaneously. 

“Mhm,” she says, and she leaves them be, not bothering to write it down. 

Bucky likes when servers don’t coddle, and he appreciates her efficiency. They both like how she treats them just like any other regular in the joint. She doesn’t give a shit about them in the best kind of way. 

Steve kicks Bucky’s ankle before hooking their ankles together. “Your hair’s all funny,” he says, pouring some creamer into his coffee. 

“Your face is all funny,” Bucky says back, lovingly. He pulls it back, anyway and ties it. 

Steve grabs his hand and squeezes it before he draws it back, folding his hands in his lap. They stray from public affection, but a quick moment here and there is acceptable. 

Bucky blows at his coffee before he sips it. “So, besides cleaning the kitchen and finishing up the guest room, what else is on the agenda today?” 

“Well, we don’t have to clean the kitchen today. We could do that tomorrow. But we should just get the room sorted out.” 

Bucky nods and sips his coffee. “We keep the house clean, mostly. I don’t think Peter would care, honestly, if we had dust on some railings.” 

“You think we should go to the grocery store and get some snack food? I mean, we eat plenty as it is. Imagine our appetites as a teenage super-soldier. It's probably ten times more demanding than ours.” 

Bucky hums, considering that idea. “Thank god we didn’t go through that. We can always order in, too. We’ll probably need to put some toiletries in the guest bathroom as well.” 

Steve nods. “Yeah. The shower has a door, right? We don't need a curtain.” 

He shrugs. "The bathroom on the upper floor has a curtain." He piles up some of the single-packet jams and begins to build a pyramid outta them. 

Steve flicks it down, and Bucky glares. 

"Y'know, why is he called the 'Spider-Man?' Who decided that?" Steve asks. "I mean, I know we don't get much of a say in what the public calls us. Spider-Teen is more appropriate." 

"Doesn't have the same flair," Bucky figures. "I mean, who came up with 'Captain America,' again? Why not just call you the 'Patriotic Idiot,' instead?"

Steve knocks his ankle against Bucky's. "Why didn't they call you the 'Grumpy Soldier,' or 'Shiny Arm Shithead?' Hm?" 

Bucky snorts. "You're a dumbass." 

"Takes one to love one, huh?" Steve says. He's got a soft look in his eyes, so fond and jovial. Bucky likes that he smiles more like this. 

"Guess so," he agrees. They share a smile. “Anything else we need to do today?” Bucky asks as the waitress drops off his orange juice and is turning away before he can say “thank you.” 

Steve rubs at his chin. “We should call Natasha tonight and make sure she lands in Barcelona all right. Facetime Sam, see how he is. He’s still in Rome with his girlfriend.”

“When’s he gonna let me meet her in person?” Bucky laments. “I wouldn’t embarrass him.”

Steve gives an incredulous look. “Uh huh.” 

“I wouldn’t!” he insists. “I’m a great wingman. I’d talk him up.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Steve deadpans. 

Bucky scoffs, and he scoots out of his booth. “I’m gonna get a newspaper. Newspapers don’t talk back.” 

“Grab one for me!” Steve calls after him. He watches Bucky head out the diner and cross the street to a news stand. 

The waitress drops off their orders: putting Bucky’s on his side even without him there. Steve takes his plate and thanks her. She mhms and heads back to the kitchen. 

Bucky returns, and he drops back into the booth. He’s got two papers rolled in his hands, and he hands one to Steve. “Mm, this looks good,” he says, putting his paper aside and unrolling his napkin. He stuffs it in his lap, and he stares pointedly at Steve until he does the same.

They dig into their breakfast, take sips from their drinks, and read the morning paper.

*

“Is it true that the Winter Soldier’s new arm is made of Vibranium?” Ned whispers to him during Chemistry. They’re supposed to working on a worksheet on stoichiometry, and Peter rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know. Probably.” 

“Like, his arm is like Captain America’s shield. What do you think would happen if he punched the shield?” 

“I don’t know.” That’s a fair question though. What would happen?

“Can you ask them to do that for like, the sake of physics?” 

Peter considers it. “Maybe.” 

“Will you film it?”

*

“Is that everything?” Steve asks, putting away two packages of Oreos in the pantry.

Bucky puts a six-pack of root beer in the fridge alongside a twelve-pack of Coke. “Yep. Well, there is one thing left,” he says, and he grabs a box of dog treats from the counter and shakes them. “I need to make sure these are suitable before I put them in the treat jar.” 

Rocky’s wriggling by Bucky’s feet in a flash while Missy trots her way over at the word “treat.” She does sit for Bucky, but once she’s got her treat in her mouth she heads back over to her bed to eat it. Rocky’s has to be broken up so it’s easier for him to eat, and he goes nuts when he can finally devour it. 

“Guess this is good batch,” Bucky says, and he pours the box into their jar. 

Steve’s leaning against the counter with _that look_ when Bucky’s all soft. He winks at Steve as he passes him. “C’mon, pal. Let’s go inspect the guest room.”

*

It’s Chicken Finger Thursday, and Peter goes through the lunch line with Ned. He grabs a chocolate milk for the special occasion. He spurts too much ketchup over his fries that some lands on his shirt.

After they sit down at a table, he swipes at the ketchup stain with a napkin. “Shit.” 

“Did you finish your history paper yet?” Ned asks, mouth full. 

“Nope,” Peter says, mouth also full. He swallows. “I’m gonna tonight.” 

“Wanna be my partner for the Physics project next week?” 

“Duh, who else would I work with?” 

Ned gives him a shit-eating smile. “MJ?” 

Peter blushes, so he stuffs some fries in his mouth. “Nope. Nuh uh. Not gonna start.”

“Don’t try to fight it, Peter!” he pleads. “Feel your feelings. I asked Betty Brant to be my date, and she said yes. If I can do it—” 

“Nope.” 

“So, you don’t wanna dance with her at the formal or anything?” 

“Nope.” 

“Sure,” Ned agrees, sarcastically. “Anyways, I have a date next week with a First Order Heavy Assault Walker set.” 

“No way! You ordered it?” Peter says, mouth garbled. 

“It arrives Tuesday. 1376 pieces, dude.” 

“Can I help assemble it?” 

“Of course, dude. MJ can help as well.” 

“ _Oh my god, dude, cut it out_.”

*

“You told the nice woman we’d finished the room, Rogers, and we don’t even have any sheets for the bed,” Bucky scolds, peeling off the painter’s tape lining the ceiling. They painted the room a light blue a few days ago but still hadn’t removed the damn tape after they’d hauled all the furniture back in. “How did we buy a quilt for the damn bed but not buy the fucking sheets?”

Steve sighs and pulls the plastic covering the new bedside table they’d bought online. He bunches it up and throws it into the pile of other plastic coverings and discarded tape. 

“Well, we can use some of our own.” 

“Our bed is King-sized. This is a queen. It won’t fit.” 

"We can just tighten it up, like bunch it up under the mattress," Steve offers. 

Bucky crosses his arms and just _looks_ at Steve. "Really?" 

Steve shoves the nightstand in place. “I’ll go buy some. White linens, right?” 

Bucky nods. He stands in the room and looks around. “This is good, right? I mean, we got a bed, dresser, side table, and lamps. That’s fine enough?” 

Steve looks around. It might be the stripped-off mattress that makes the room feel _off,_ but he figures the room does look a little bare. Almost too clinical and sterile. 

“We could hang some pictures on the wall? So it’s not so bare? Add more life to the room?” 

Bucky frowns, “Pictures of what?” 

“We could print some photos of Rocky and Missy at a pharmacy? The ones with those photo stations? We have plenty of frames we’re not using. Or we could find something else. We’re in New York, so we’ll find some artwork somewhere.” 

Bucky sighs. “Now that I’m thinking about it, we need a rug.” 

The hardwood floor does look as empty as the walls. It's almost like a huge body and a small head: it's just not fitting well. 

“God, how did we even decorate our house when we moved in?” Steve asks, thumping his head against the wall. 

“Natasha helped. We should have hired someone for this,” Bucky says. “We are no good with this stuff. God, Rogers, with all those art classes under your belt I’d think you’d have a better eye for this shit.” 

Steve huffs. “We’re going go shopping, huh?” 

“Yeah, looks like it,” Bucky says. “I’ll start a list if you go start the car.”

*

There isn’t decathlon practice, so he heads home right after the last bell. His phone dies on the train, so he reads the book they’re discussing in English until he reaches his stop.

May is still at work, but he still calls out for her as a habit. He kicks off his sneakers and hangs his coat. In the kitchen, he rinses the used thermos and puts it in the stuffed dishwasher. He figures it's full enough for a cycle, so he adds some plates and silverware that’d been in the sink into the rack. He starts the machine and figures he might as well wipe down the counters. 

When he’s done, he sits in the living room and pulls his textbooks and laptop from his bag. 

He sits in the living room to do his homework, typing his essay with his history book propped on the cushion next to him. 

May arrives home around six-thirty, nose red from the cold. “Someone did the dishes! And cleaned the counters,” she comments, shaking off his coat. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing! I just did it. No reason,” he insists, hands up. 

“That was sweet of you,” she says. “Sorry, I’m back later than usual. The train was late.” 

“It’s all good.” Peter’s still staring at the laptop, typing quickly. “I’m almost done with my paper. Just one more paragraph left.” 

She plops into the chair by the couch, and she sighs in relief. “What about your other homework?” 

“I don’t have any besides this. Everything else is in-class or due next week.” 

“Hm,” she says. “I’m feeling like spaghetti. How does that sound for dinner?” 

Peter’s stomach growls. “That sounds great.” 

“Good. I’m gonna put on my PJs, get outta these heels,” she says, heading to her room down the hall. Her heels click under her, and she pulls her hair back into a bun. 

Peter considers doing that as well, but he powers through his conclusion instead. He presses the final period key when May’s back out in the living room in her pajama pants and sweatshirt. “Alright, let me get some water boiling.” 

Peter closes his laptop and heads into his own room, changing into his pajamas. He manages to somehow step on the same Lego from before. “Are you kidding me!” he hisses.

*

“See, honey. This is much better,” Bucky says after he fixes the hanging the curtains on the newly purchased rod. He moves to stand in the doorway so he can admire the totality of their day’s work. “Much better.”

“Really?” Steve asks. He’s got the bed lifted up in one hand as he smoothes out the rug they’d put under it. 

“Mhm. We did good.” Steve puts the bed down and goes to stand next to Bucky in the doorway. Bucky takes his hand and holds. “The pictures are a good touch.” 

The room does look more warm and friendly. They’d got white sheets that fit, a nice gray rug to fit under the bed, and some decorative pillows to add on the bed. At a pharmacy with a photo station, they printed out some photos of Rocky and Missy that Bucky had on his phone, and they even printed some out for their own room. Then, they found some black frames and hung them up on the wall with thumb tacks. They purchased an original painting of Brooklyn from a sidewalk artist to add on the wall as well. The pile of tape and plastic is in the trash. The room is clean, homely, and comfortable. 

They realized, when they bought the rug for the bedroom, that they needed bath rugs for the bathroom. While in the same section of the department store, they bought a toothbrush and soap holder, face and body towels, and hooks. Their trunk was stuffed with shopping bags and the new purchases. 

But now, with some personal touch and the bed made, the bedroom is acceptable. 

“We did good,” Steve agrees, and he squeezes Bucky’s hand. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “It’s already seven? Huh.” 

Bucky blanches then bolts down the stairs. “I need to feed them dinner!” 

Steve follows him down at a slower pace. When he reaches the kitchen, Bucky’s already measuring the kibble into their separate bowls. Missy is looking very displeased at the tardiness of her supper. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he coos, placing the bowl before her. “And I’m sorry to you, too, baby,” he tells Rocky as he sets down his bowl. “I was busy, and it slipped my mind.” He stands back up. “Those poor things,” he repeats to Steve. 

“Let’s give them a t-r-e-a-t for their suffering once they’re finished.” He rubs Bucky’s shoulder. “We should get some dinner started ourselves.” 

Bucky nods. “What are you feeling like?” 

“We can go out if you want if you don’t wanna make something? Or order in?” 

“Can we call in some Thai?”

“Sure. Wanna eat and watch whoever’s playing?” 

Bucky nods and picks up his phone to call in the order.

*

May reads his essay, and she pokes at the screen when she notices a grammatical or syntactical error. Peter reaches over her and highlights the words or phrases in red and hands back the laptop.

“You’re a good writer, hon,” May tells him as he stands from the table and goes to get seconds. “You just use too much passive voice.” 

He sits back with a newly piled plate. “But, it all makes sense?” he asks, mouth full. 

“Mhm.” She closes his laptop and slide it over to him. 

“I’ll edit it before bed,” he says, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks, May.” 

May takes a sip from her glass of wine, and adds, “You need to pack for the weekend, too. Make sure you got your suit all nice.” 

“My secret suit?” 

“No, the suit for the formal. The nice gray one we’re renting. You take care of it, okay?” 

“I will!” 

“You better. Your nice dress shoes are in my closet for some reason. Don’t forget them. And if you need a refresher on how to dance, let me know now so you don’t have to ask Captain Rogers to teach you how to lindy-hop or however else they danced back then,” she says, standing and taking her plate to the sink. “And I’m gonna try on that blue dress I was telling you about. You need to tell me if it still fits.” 

“It’s been a month since you wore it.” 

“Honey, at my age, a month is a lifetime,” she says. “That’s just the way it is.” 

“Okay,” Peter says. “I’m gonna get another serving.” 

“God, have I told you that I’d _kill_ for your metabolism?” she laments as she heads to her bedroom.

*

“You can’t have any of this. It’ll hurt your stomach and make you sick,” Bucky explains to Rocky who pitifully begs at his feet. “Don’t act like you’re starving, either. You’d think I’ve neglected you.”

Steve finishes off his dumplings and digs at his Pad Thai. He glances at Rocky and gives him a pout, “Oh, he’s such a sad thing,” he agrees. “Never seen such a poor little dog in my life.” 

He takes out his phone and checks the time. Natasha should have landed by now. He calls her up and puts her on speaker. Bucky lowers the volume on the TV as it rings. 

“Romanov,” comes from the other end. They can hear some bustling behind her.

“It’s us,” Bucky says. “How are you, darling?” and Steve asks, “Are you still in the airport?” 

“No, my taxi.” Natasha answers, “I’m doing fine. The traffic isn’t too bad. I read a nice book on the plane. I never can sleep on planes, you both know. How are you two?” 

“We’re just at home, eating dinner,” Steve says. “You’ll never guess what we’re doing this weekend.” 

“Just one moment,” she says, and they hear her converse with her taxi driver. “Sorry. What is it you are doing? I’m too jet-lagged to give you a smart response.” 

“We’re having Peter Parker over,” Steve says. “We finished the guest room on our floor, and we’re letting him stay with us.” 

“How did this come about?” 

“His aunt called us yesterday. She had something last minute and was worried about him. I don’t blame her. And we offered to have him over. It’d be nice to have company.” 

“I’m less surprised about you babysitting Spider-Man than I am that you actually finished that room. You guys started quote unquote decorating it in November.” 

“We know.” 

“It’s _February_ ,” she reminds. 

“We know,” Bucky says. “I’ll send you a picture of the room. I’d like to know your thoughts on it.” 

“Please do,” she says. “Since you two are both hosting now, I’d like to book that guest room when I’m back. Speaking of rooms, I’m pulling up to my hotel.” 

Steve laughs. “I’ll reserve your room now. Bring us back a postcard, Nat.” 

“Mhm. Give my love to your pooches for me.” 

“Good bye, darling,” Bucky says as Steve bids her a good night.

*

“May, you look great,” Peter insists.

“Should I twirl again?” she asks.

“Yeah, but you still look good!” 

She twirls again. “I mean, this is a little too formal I think. I’m gonna go try on my pink one. Be right back.” 

Peter winces.

*

Steve carries over the dishes to the sink while Bucky wipes down the table for crumbs, so no dogs will be enticed to hop into the chairs and search for scraps.

They finished their dinner with a three quarters left in the Knicks game, so they head to the couch to watch it. Steve puts his arm around Bucky, and Rocky climbs into Bucky’s lap to sit with them. Missy gnaws at her Greenies dental bone from her bed by the fireplace.

*

May tried on six dresses before she finally settled on a floral pink dress that, “Look, it’s appropriate length, right? Just past my knees. I can wear my nude pumps with them, too!” Peter thought she looked fine in all of the dresses she modeled, but the floral dress did look very nice.

“I’ll bring that third dress I tried, y’know the green and black one, just in case.” 

Peter gives her a smile, and she retreats back to her room. “Thank you for your help, Peter!” she calls out. 

Honestly, he didn’t even offer much criticism. May pointed out everything she did or didn’t like with each dress, and before Peter could get a word in, she’d made up her mind about the garment and headed to her room to change. 

“Of course!” he says back. 

He heads back to his bedroom with his laptop. He fixes up the errors he highlighted, and he reads over his essay one last time. It’s decent. 

May knocks at his door, back in her pajamas. She’s got her green facemask on again. “I’m gonna turn in early. Lights out by eleven, alright?” 

Peter nods. “I’m just gonna finish this up then take a shower.” 

“Alright. You should pack now, so you’re not too rushed tomorrow. Good night, Peter.” 

“Night, May.”

* 

“You’re gonna carry me up to bed right after we Facetimed Wilson? Huh? With him fresh in my mind?” Bucky teases. Steve is in fact carrying him to their bedroom. He’s not sure why he’s being carried, but he’s not complaining.

They had finished their call to Sam Wilson a half hour ago to be fair. He let Steve but not Bucky talk to his girlfriend, and Steve laughed at Bucky’s indignant huff at the refusal. Later, the game finished, and Bucky was scritching on Rocky’s belly, then Steve starting giving him _the look_ and then— 

Steve drops him down onto the bed and turns to make sure the door is shut and that no dog followed them upstairs. 

“Oh c’mere,” Bucky drawls, sprawling out loose on the bed. “Get on over here.”

*

Peter closes his laptop for good, and he heads out of his room to go shower.

He’s got a Snap from Ned that’s a picture of his cousin’s drawing of Spider-Man.

*

“Oh, honey,” Bucky sighs. It’s real nice and lazy kind of sex they’re having. Steve’s on top of him; Bucky’s on his back comfy against the sheets. His metal hand splays between Steve’s shoulder bones, and the other one cups the side of his ass.“That’s it. Atta boy.”

Steve nuzzles at his neck and keeps thrusting all steady and slow. “Buck,” he tells him. “Oh.”

“I know.” He strokes Steve’s back, and he pulls the covers that had slipped off Steve’s shoulder back up to cover them. “You gettin’ it from me, honey? Huh? Can’t even form a sentence when you’re fucking me, can you?”

Steve replies with a point-proving, “ _Buck._ ”

Steve does get tongue-tied when he tops. He gets so focused on the sensation of being inside Bucky, of loving him, of how good it feels, and of how much he loves Bucky. Add the missionary position to that, and Steve’s vocabulary is limited to “Buck,” a few choice curse words, and gushy and nonsensical sweet nothings. 

“I know,” Bucky soothes again. He closes his eyes, and his head falls back against the pillow. “I know.” 

The bed rocks under them.

*

When Peter steps out of the shower and towels off, he notices a Snapchat from Ned. It’s a photo of his formal suit spread out on his bed, accompanied with _“when yu have two aunties staying with you and they steam your suit. we keep it fresh in this house”_

He chats back “ _weird flex but okay_ ” before he adds “ _when YOU have one auntie that isnt gonna be home so ur gonna have to ask cap america to do it for u”_

Ned sends a Snap of his face betrayed, clutching at his chest like he’s been stabbed.

*

Steve’s ramping up, getting faster in his strokes, and his face is getting pinker.

“You gettin’ it? Huh?” Bucky goads him, and he smacks Steve’s ass. “Mhm. You take it from me. Take it.” Steve mouths all sloppy over Bucky’s chin and lower lip before Bucky tugs him to kiss him properly. “Take it,” he snarls against Steve’s lips. “You love me good.” 

Steve likes hearing that. “Yeah, fuck.” 

Bucky slaps the side of his ass again. “Yeah, honey. That’s it. You been fucking me real good. Now get yours. Let go in me.” Even though his legs are wrapped around Steve’s waist loosely, he can tell Steve’s toes are curling just by the tightness of the coils in his neck. Steve strains up and then, “There you go. Uh huh. That’s it. That’s it, honey.” 

Steve’s face is all open and lax as he cums, and he buries his face in Bucky’s neck again. Bucky holds him, clenches on him to milk it out of him, and kisses the side of his face and the sweaty fringe of his hair. He shushes at Steve even though he’s not making a sound, save for his deep breathes puffing against his neck. 

He finally lifts his head up. “Buck,” he manages thoughtfully, and he leans down and rubs their noses together. 

Bucky’s still wanting him, needing a release. “Flip us over,” he says, and Steve does, making a ‘uf’ sound while he’s at it. Steve stuffs some pillows behind his neck, so he can have a better view. Bucky sits up straight, and he rubs at Steve’s chest. “You too sensitive? Can I?” he asks, moving his hips tentatively. Steve’s still hard inside him, but he wants to be sure. 

Steve nods and squeezes his ass. “Fuck down on me,” he says, and Bucky does. 

He’s not trying to be quick about it, but he wants to let go, wants to let Steve see how good Steve’s been fucking him, wants to release it, wants to mark him. He lowers down a bit, resting on his elbow. He gets an eyeful of Steve’s tits that jiggle every time he thrusts down. 

“Steve,” he whines. He makes a pitiful pout and asks, “Can I suck ‘em?” His response is Steve puffing up his chest so Bucky can reach them faster. He favors Steve’s right nipple with his tongue, feels Steve’s heart pulsing under it. He loves Steve. He loves him. 

“Buck,” Steve grits out, “I’m gonna.” 

“Already?” Bucky asks, lifting his head. He decides to kiss on Steve’s neck now. “Got you feeling it that fast?” He feels hot and flushed bubbling deep inside him, his feet feel numb, and his heart’s beating real fast. “I get you feelin’ good, huh?” 

“Feel real good, Buck,” he insists. Steve moves his one hand to Bucky’s hips and helps him move down faster on him. The other hand he makes into a tight fist for Bucky to fuck into. “I love you, baby. Love you so much.” 

Bucky cries out all wanton and drops onto Steve fully, dropping his elbows, cumming between their chests and all over Steve’s fingers. “Oh, honey,” he moans, lips smearing all over Steve’s shoulder and neck. After a moment of blissed-out slumping he’s got enough wits to keep his hips moving. “Cum inside me again,” he murmurs. “All up in me.” 

Steve lifts his chin up and gives him a dopey smile, “I did. Right after you, Buck.” 

That would make sense; he tends to clench down hard. And apparently — as Steve’s told him— he makes a “pretty” sound when he cums that most certainly can and will push Steve over the edge if he’s close. “Oh.” 

Steve holds him until it’s too uncomfortable so he pulls out. Bucky rolls off him and onto his side of the bed. Steve cuddles in next to him, and they stare at the ceiling for a bit. “That was nice,” Steve says, all lovey, taking their hands together and bringing them to his lips. 

“You said that last night,” Bucky reminds. 

“Because that was nice as well.” 

“Mhm.”

*

Peter steps on the same damn Lego when he’s dried off and back in his room. Honestly, he’s not sure why he hadn’t just picked it up off the floor the first time, but here he is.

He dresses for bed and crawls under the covers. With his thumb hovering over the search bar, he considers googling the Winter Soldier files but decides against it. That's not really bed-time material, and he's going to be living in the man's house tomorrow. It'd be like Captain Rogers and the Winter Soldier piling over his report cards and mishaps. Peter's a grown man (sort of) and he can make an opinion of someone himself, not based on some leaked files on the internet. 

He decides to watch some Netflix on his phone instead, wedging his head and the phone under the covers because he can’t find his headphones. Eventually, he makes it halfway through a movie he’d been half-assedly watching before he clicks his phone off and falls asleep.

*

They follow the same night routine: detaching the arm, showering, locking down the house, checking on the dogs, readying for bed. Missy joins them upstairs as she did this morning and brings up her Greenie bone to chew. She digs at her bed for a good minute until she’s satisfied. Bucky watches her the entire time, happy she’s upstairs or, as Missy would probably think, counting his blessings that she’s given them the privilege and honor of sleeping in the same vicinity as them. Rocky nestles in his own bed, chewing his own Greenie to copy his sister. 

Bucky turns on the TV. He clicks through the TV guide and lands on a sports program discussing highlights and predictions. 

Steve watches with him, his head on Bucky’s chest. 

“Let’s take them for a walk tomorrow morning,” Bucky tells him during a commercial. “Since we didn’t walk them tonight.” 

“Mhm. I like that you’ve been coming with me.” They both like having some alone time away from the other for an hour or so. But, he doesn’t mind if Bucky wants to join him for a walk. “They like it, too.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky whispers, looking over at Missy who’s fallen asleep. On the other side of the room is Rocky, still nibbling his bone. 

“Mhm,” Steve hums, and Bucky can feel the vibration of his throat against his chest. 

After about a half hour, the world’s become bleary. His eyelids are heavy, and he feels relaxed in his chest. Bucky shuts off the TV and lowers himself against his pillow. Steve, half-asleep, moves with him, nuzzling into his chest with a snuff. Steve throws his legs over Bucky’s, and he sighs his content. 

Bucky kisses his forehead and closes his eyes.


	3. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update. Still looking for a beta! I apologize for any errors. Godspeed to us all; Endgame comes out Friday!

*

Friday

  
At approximately 1:14am, the fire alarm blares. Peter shoots a web without thinking at his ceiling as he’s jostled awake by the screeching beeps. 

May sags against his doorway slipping into her coat. “We gotta go outside,” she says, teeth clenched with her retainers. “Damn fucking shit fire alarm.” 

If May’s cursing, she must be pissed. May’s got this grouchy mug that she reserves only for moments of total pissed-off-ness, and she’s wearing it now. 

He blindly feels for his phone and grabs it, shoving into the pocket of his sweatpants. He toes in some Crocs because he’s not awake enough to locate socks. May’s waiting for him by the front door, a scowl on her tired face. She juts her chin in the direction of the coat rack, and he throws one over. She locks the front door behind them a little more aggressively than necessary. They slouch down seven flights of stairs with other disgruntled tenants to stand outside in the freezing cold. 

“God, can’t they turn the alarms off? We get it already,” she moans as they pass the fourth floor. 

Peter shrugs, still not entirely awake. He doesn’t sense any danger; his special sense would have woken him up if that was the case. 

When they make it down, May refuses to wait with the hoard of other sleepy and cold neighbors. 

“Let’s go wait somewhere; maybe get a hot chocolate or something,” she says, teeth chattering. He puts his arm around her to warm her up as they trudge towards a diner.

*

Steve’s phone starts buzzing. It’s on his nightstand, so the noise is even more annoying.

At first, Bucky thinks it must be an alarm Steve set. But, he opens his eyes and sees how dark it still is outside. And Steve doesn’t set alarms. 

Steve’s sat himself up against the headboard, and Bucky rolls over to turn on the lamp on his nightstand. He grabs his own phone: it’s 01:40. 

“Who is it?” Bucky asks, resting up on his elbow. The Caller ID is blocked so it’s either one of those robocallers that even Super Soldiers with fancy phones aren’t immune to, or someone needs help. Neither are very appealing to Bucky at this hour, but Steve’s raging hard-on for Justice never softens, so if it’s the latter he just has to take care of it. 

“Rogers,” Steve answers on speaker. He can muster up that Voice of Justice whenever, but he sounds very standoffish to be honest. 

“It’s Agent 41. CIA. We need you to come in.” 

“What for?” He and Bucky exchange looks. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say over the phone. It’s urgent. We have a car sent for you already.” 

“Fuck,” Steve mutters under the phone. “Should the Winter Soldier come with me?” 

“No, that’s not necessary. This is not physical threat. We are conducting a very serious interrogation with an uncooperative subject that claims other insurgents are currently executing an order. The suspect specifically asked to talk to you specifically. I will explain the details to you in the car. See you in ten minutes.” 

The agent hangs up. 

Steve’s head thumps against the headboard. “Alright, fuck,” he finally says. “Have you ever noticed that they never say ‘goodbye,’ Buck?” He kicks off the covers and rolls out of bed. 

“What do you think it is?” Bucky asks, watching Steve enter their closet. He starts stripping out of his pajamas. “You think they caught that operative from a few weeks ago? The one with the thumb drives?” 

“Maybe. It could be the weapons trafficker from December,” Steve says, stepping into his suit. Bucky moves to get out of bed, but Steve insists, “No, hey. Stay in bed.” 

“I should come,” Bucky says, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I should come with you if it’s important enough to take you out of bed.” 

“Buck, I’ve got it,” Steve starts. This’ll be an uphill battle. Bucky can be stubborn as a mule when he’s been slighted, and Bucky’s not looking very happy. “I think they just want me to show my face and scare the guy. It’s fine.” 

Bucky levels Steve with a glare, eyes scanning over Steve’s face. “The CIA’s pulling you out of bed to scare some dumbass who might’ve been talking out of his ass? Just because he asked for you? Next thing you know, every time some shithead gets caught he’ll just fucking _summon_ you and poof!”

“Bucky,” Steve starts. Bucky’s right. It’s ridiculous. He bows his head. “I know. I know. But, just stay home. Please. Keep the house safe.” 

Even though his eyes soften, he’s still got his one arm crossed against his chest. 

“At least lemme help lace your boots,” Bucky says with a reluctant resignation. 

“I got it,” Steve insists, and he heads back over to the armoire where Bucky’s hidden a stash of pistols. “Can I take one?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, flopping down back against the sheets. He’s frowning. “Don’t think you’ll need it though.” 

Steve grimaces and holsters the weapon. 

Missy, the busy body, is awake and staring up at Steve. Her bed is next to the armoire, and her displeased eyes demand an explanation. He sighs at her. “I have to go in to work.” 

“Will you bring her to the bed?” Bucky has his arm crossed over his eyes, blocking out the light.

“Yeah, one second.” Steve hoists his shield behind his back. He beckons Missy to hop up the doggie stairs, and she stares at him like he’s asking her to get in the god-forsaken tub. Steve relents and picks her up and plops her down by Bucky’s side. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky croaks, warmly as she sniffs at Bucky’s face, licking his cheek once. She shows affection very differently than Rocky, but if she’s sleepy enough she’ll allow cuddling. And if she senses some sadness from her “masters” she will be gracious enough to dish some love out herself. Missy situates herself by Steve’s pillow and curls down with a whuffle. “Sweet girl.” 

Steve sits on Bucky’s side of the bed and ties his laces. “Think it’ll be long?” 

“Probably not. Don’t wanna jinx it, though,” Steve says. 

“Disable the alarm, I guess,” Bucky gripes. “We’ll talk in the morning.” 

Steve clears his throat. “Okay.”

“Eat something before you go, though. We got those protein shakes yesterday, remember?” Steve stands and rolls his shoulders. Bucky’s lowered his arm and looks up at Steve. “Don’t want you getting too hungry.”

Steve wants to dote, but he can’t. Only Bucky can be mad at him and mother him at the same time. “I’ll go drink one right now. They’ll be here in a minute.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers and he puckers his lips. He always wants a kiss goodbye. Steve leans down and gives him one. “Don’t be an idiot. I love you.” _Even when I’m mad, I love you so much it hurts._

“I love you. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.” He gives Bucky another kiss for measure, rubs Missy on the head, and heads downstairs. 

The car picks him up exactly fifteen seconds after he’s finished his shake, disabled the house alarm, and has stepped out the door.

*

May grumbles the whole seven flights of stairs back to their apartment after the Fire Department cleared out. Apparently, someone on the second floor couldn’t spare two brain cells to scrape together, so he put two Jiffypops in the microwave unattended.

Peter locks the door for them after May lets them in. It’s 2:15 am, and May is not thrilled that she’s lost an hour of sleep. They both head back to their rooms after kicking off their shoes and hanging their coats. 

Honestly, Peter’s too awake to fall back asleep so quickly, so he plays a game on his phone until his eyes fall heavy.

*

Steve bends down to kiss Bucky on the forehead. He stirs and then settles. “Time is it?” he murmurs, stretching against the sheets. “The alarm’s back on?”

“Yeah, Buck. And it’s about four hundred. Go back to sleep,” he insists. He releases his shield from its harness and sets it by the armoire. Bucky still sits up, turns on his side lamp, hooks his finger in a come-hither motion, and tugs Steve to him to fuss with his uniform. He starts unzipping it so it flaps down at his waist. 

“Gimme your boots. Lemme unlace them.” He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, and Steve sits down on the side of the bed and props his boots near Bucky’s lap. “What happened.” 

Steve rubs at his eyes. 

“You were right. It was the same operative from a few weeks ago. They caught him trying to sneak into the Avengers HQ with malwared thumb drives. He apparently implied that there were other agents operating at the same time, and then shut up. He didn’t think I’d show up much less lead the interrogation. He about swallowed his tongue, Buck. Some tough guy he was.” 

“You sayin’ you weren’t sweet to the guy that got you pulled outta bed at an ungodly hour? Shocking,” Bucky deadpans. He finishes unlacing Steve’s boots and tugs them off. He aims them for the closet door and makes his mark. 

“He sang like a bird. Told us the locations of other operatives with similar missions.” 

Bucky snorts at that. Like it’s more frustrating that Steve was woken up because of a goddamn dumbfuck with loose lips. Those agents threw the towel in too early.

Steve stands and strips off in the closet, hanging up his suit and lining his boots up straight. He changes back into his pajamas and lobs towards the bed. Missy’s still occupying Steve’s pillow, so Bucky spreads his arms. “C’mon in here.”

Steve smiles at that and crawls in on Bucky’s side. He hits off the light, and he snuggles in. 

“We’ll sleep in, okay?” Bucky murmurs into his temple before he kisses it.

*

May knocks on Peter’s door, yawning. “Peter,” she says, “Time to get up.”

Peter’s bed has never felt so comfortable in his entire life. “Uhgng,” he tells May. She opens his door and moves to sit on the side of his bed. 

“I know, I know. At least that idiot on the second floor now realizes that you really can’t put metal in the microwave,” she says. “Who the heck puts Jiffy Pop in a microwave? Much less two of them. Don’t people buy it just so they can heat it on a stove?” 

“Ugh.” Peter burrows deeper into his covers. 

May scoffs and tugs at his quilt. “You want bagels or Poptarts?” 

“Poptarts. S’mores, no wait. Cinnamon,” Peter muffles into his pillow. He finally opens his eyes, and May’s giving him an unimpressed but loving look. “Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll heat up some up for you,” she says, heading out. “And since I’m not an idiot, I’ll remove them from the foil before I put them in the toaster.” 

Peter takes a moment to wake up before he crawls out of bed. It took _too long_ for the Fire Department to clear everyone to go back to their apartments. And while Peter would _never_ use his powers for wrongdoings, but if the dumbass on the second floor randomly had some webs plastering over every inch in his apartment...would that really be a miscarriage of his abilities? Really? _Really?_

After he dresses and packs his bag for school, he goes out to the living room. May hands him a plate as she walks back over to her spot on the couch, her typical morning show chattering on. She picks up her mug off the coffee table and blows on it. “You packed your bags?” 

Peter pours himself a glass of milk and goes to sit with her. “Yeah. And you?” 

“Mhm. That carry-on suitcase you got me for Christmas, hon, fit everything in it just fine.” 

“Oh, cool.” 

The weatherman pops on on the screen. Even though Peter hears him, May repeats back to him everything that was just said. 

“It’s gonna be real cold, today. High of 45° and a low of 23° by tonight. Geez. I hope Captain Rogers plans on staying indoors.” 

“Yeah,” Peter says. “But I mean, Winter’s inside his house already...so how much colder can it get?” 

May stares at him blankly before, “Oh. That was a joke.”

*

Rocky’s licking Steve’s fingers. Bucky shifts in his arms They’re still sharing a pillow and cuddled up; Missy’s still curled over on Steve’s side.

“The baby’s up?” Bucky murmurs softly in his ear. “I can go let ‘em out ‘s you were out late.” 

Steve tuts. “I got it. Go back to sleep.” He pecks Bucky quickly. “Bring you up some coffee.” 

He rubs Missy’s back until she blinks up at him. Steve releases his hold on Bucky, and he crawls out from the covers. She primly goes down the bed’s stairs, and Rocky leaps from the side of the bed.

The dogs follow him down the stairs, and they wait impatiently at the door as Steve disables the alarm. Rocky bolts out to their yard while Missy gives him a side-glance and stays put. It’s cold and wet, and she’d rather not venture out in these _unacceptable_ conditions. “Oh, go on out, Missy,” he insists, holding the door open. She’s not entertaining the idea. “Really? You’re gonna make me come out with you, huh?” Oh, yes she is. “Okay, fine. Gimme a second.” 

Steve quickly fills and starts the coffee maker before he walks outside, beckoning Missy to follow him. “I’m out here. I’ll suffer, too.” She graciously steps outside. He gives her privacy as she sniffs around, so he looks around at the porch. He needs to refill his bird suet holder. There’s some frost on the windows. 

They scamper in from the wet. Steve went out barefoot so he has to rub his feet all over the door mat. Missy’s fur is chilly and damp, so he gives her a nice long ruffle to her fur. Rocky shakes himself but seems less afflicted. Besides, she’s more interested in her treat, so he gives her one that she takes and trots over to her bed with. After he breaks Rocky’s treat up into little bites on the floor for him, he leans against the counter, and he watches the brew drip and drip. 

Steve remembers the Barnes household had one of those vacuum pot coffee makers, and how fascinated he and Buck would be watching the process of the coffee suckle down after heating, the way the grinds would dry, and the strong scent of the coffee bubbling. 

As the coffee brews, he considers the kitchen and living room. It’s not as messy as he thinks; it’s more homely than carefully crafted and maintained like a magazine advertisement’s home would look like. Sure some blankets are strewn about on the sofa, and there’s some doggie toys littering the carpet. The pillows are not straight and standing at attention. 

Steve likes his home. Their home. It’s theirs; they made it theirs. 

He fills up two coffee mugs and heads up stairs. Rocky’s stayed behind; he’s burrowed under his favorite spot on the couch nipping at a stuffed animal. Upstairs, Bucky’s still under the covers, probably half awake. Steve leaves him a cup of coffee on his side table, but he takes the remote. 

He props himself up with some pillows on the headboard and turns on the TV. The morning news is reaffirming how cold out it is. 

“Mhm.” Bucky scoots into Steve’s side and lifts his neck up a little and pouts his lips. Steve leans to kiss him good morning again, and then he plops down on Steve’s chest. “You’re all cold. Why is your hair wet?” 

Steve hums. “The Priss wouldn’t go out unless she dragged me with her.” 

Bucky snorts, smiling. “Stubborn. Reminds me of someone.” He nuzzles against Steve’s collarbone and his eyes are half-open. 

Steve rubs his back and watches the TV, occasionally sipping from his mug. 

“You still wanna go on a run with them?” Bucky asks quietly, yawning. 

“It’s only drizzling, but the ground does look slippery. We can try tonight? Or tomorrow morning?” 

“Let’s stay in bed longer. Make up for this morning, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” Steve says. “See if the weather clears up.” 

Bucky rubs his hand down Steve’s chest then nuzzles in closer. “Okay.”

*

After homeroom, Michelle ambushes him like people do in movies: he closes his locker and there she is, totally nonchalant about it.

“You’re gonna be my partner in Chem today,” she says. Or orders. Peter can’t tell the difference. She’s holding a worn thick paperback of what must be a literary classic. 

He gulps. “Okay.” 

Ned gives him two thumbs up from across the hall.

*

“Wanna put your arm on?” Steve asks when Bucky shuffles against him.

Bucky scrunches his nose. “Not just yet. C’mere a little. I’m gonna rant at you, and then I’m done. Okay?” 

Steve lowers his head and lets Bucky kiss him. Then he grabs Steve’s chin in his one hand, and he tells him sternly, “I don’t like when they pull you out like that. They didn’t even tell you what it was for. Even if they say I can’t come with you, next time I’m still gonna. Even if it’s just an interrogation with some jackass. Got it?” 

He probably would have given Steve an earful about it when he got home hours ago, but Bucky was sleepy and was more relieved that Steve returned home in one piece promptly. But now… he’s got something to say, and Steve’s gonna listen. They don’t tend to let anger or other negativity fester and bubble up inside until it finally explodes. When they’re mad, they let each other know. It’s never Bucky vs Steve. It’s Bucky and Steve vs The Problem. 

“We might have a deal with them, but they can’t just...we’re more than that. We are,” Bucky continues. “We should get to pick our fights, right?” 

Steve nods his head. “Yeah, honey. I hear you. I know.” 

“They didn’t even give you a say in it. Who do they think they are? To take you from _our bed_ just because some asshole too stupid to not get caught dictates it? Summons you from his cell. The fuck is that about? Huh?” 

His voice is tense, but when he says “our bed” Steve’s heart melts. It is their bed. This is their home. This is what they’ve struggled and fought and waited for decades for. 

“I know, honey,” he says back.

Bucky huffs against him. “I’m not, god, I’m not furious at you or nothing. I just...don’t like it. They don’t have us on a leash. On beck and call. Not for something like that. Next time someone tries that and the sky’s not falling, I’ll take the phone and give’m a piece of my mind. Okay?” Steve smiles at him and nods. 

“I promise.” Bucky smiles at him. He’s still got a fire in his eyes, but there’s a fondness reserved only for Steve that radiates from him. Steve loves him, hears him, knows him, and would do anything for him. “I promise, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky murmurs softly against his lips. “Oh, honey.” 

He lets Bucky tug on his lower lip and whisper a guttural “yeah, Steve” before he’s pulling away. And yep, Bucky’s giving him That Look he wears when he’s a little mad, particularly enamored, but a lot more horny.

The door’s closed, too. They’re in their bed. This works. 

“C’mere,” Bucky rasps, kicking the covers down. He tugs Steve down on top of him, and he spreads his legs apart so Steve can settle his own between them. 

Steve sneaks his hand between their stomachs to pull down the waistband of Bucky’s sweats and boxers. He takes Bucky’s half-hard cock in hand and strokes it. It’s too dry, so he gives Bucky his fingers to suck and wetten. They’re rutting against each other slowly. 

When he takes his hand from Bucky’s mouth, a trail of spit follows. He strokes at Bucky’s cock again, and it’s harder. Bucky uses his one hand to free Steve’s dick from his boxers with a sweet little sigh. “Rub em together,” he tells Steve, moving his hand to clutch at Steve’s shoulder. “In that big paw of yours. Get em slick together, honey.” 

Steve takes them both in hand and rubs, and he falls to rest on his elbows because it feels good enough to knock him to his knees. Bucky grinds up against him, kissing blindly at his cheek and mouth. “Oh yeah. That’s it,” he urges. “You feel us together?” 

Their cocks fuck Steve’s wet fist. They grind against each other. Steve nuzzles his nose between Bucky’s neck and ear. Bucky’s nails bite into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, Buck,” he sighs, heart heavy and the coil of fire in his gut tugging at him. “Yeah, baby.”

*

“Turn mine in for me,” Michelle offers more than asks, shoving her stapled essay on his shoulder once the teacher’s requested the papers into a pile on his desk.

Peter turns and takes it, making sure not to dent the crisp white paper. It’s warm. “Did you just print it?” 

“Why are you feeling my paper up, Peter?” Michelle asks in a way that Peter can’t tell if she’s joking or dead serious. Her face breaks into a smirk. “Yeah, I finished it this morning.” 

Peter stands and brings their papers to the front of the room. 

Just because he’s delivering her paper because she asked him to...that doesn’t mean _anything_. 

When he returns to his desk, Michelle’s nose is back in her book. 

Just when he thinks she’s done with him, she whispers, “I loved writing about rich old guys that hoarded wealth in the early 20th century. It’s my favorite.” 

Peter snorts. He almost wishes he read at hers to see the detailed shutdown Michelle must have penned. 

He looks to his side. Ned gives him a thumbs up.

*

“Wanna go for a run, honey?” Bucky poses, rubbing Steve’s chest. “We can shower afterwards? Or are you too spent?”

Steve slaps him lightly on his shoulder. “I thought we’d go walk with the dogs.” 

“So you _are_ too worn out?” 

Steve hits Bucky with a pillow. Bucky laughs at him and throws it right back. 

They hadn’t even changed out of their pajamas for their old-man-rubbing, so they wipe themselves off with their tainted clothes as they change into more athletic attire. 

Steve helps Bucky attach his arm, and Bucky throws their used pajamas in the hamper. 

Downstairs, Rocky’s bundled up under his blanket pile. When he hears the clink of the leashes, he sprints out from under his burrow and starts to whine and jump at Bucky’s legs. Bucky has to fix him into his harness before he latches the leash, and Rocky so helpfully squirms in delight the entire time. “You needa hold still, baby,” he chides.

Missy trots over and sits, looking expectantly at Steve to put on her leash. She’s wagging her tail like a windshield wiper against the floor as she patiently sits still for Steve. 

They’re halfway out the door when Bucky stops. 

“Wait, lemme get my gloves,” Bucky says, handing Rocky’s leash over to Steve. He heads upstairs and Rocky whines, and Missy, growing impatient, whistles through her nose. She rarely does this. Bucky has truly betrayed her and disposed her to resort to such unacceptable behavior. 

Bucky comes back gloved and takes Missy’s leash. “I could hear her from upstairs. Goodness, sweet girl. Did I inconvenience you?” he asks as they walk down the stairs to the sidewalk. 

The weather has cleared enough that Missy should tolerate going outside without coercion. They figure they’ll take a nice walk with no destination in mind. Along the way they might stop for a quick bite. 

It is a pleasant walk. Rocky didn’t tug Steve along like he normally does, but he did compel Steve to stop every four feet so he could sniff at random parts of the sidewalk. Missy and Bucky walk ahead. Steve always marveled at The Miss Priss and how she carried herself with only three legs. 

It was one of the reason’s they’d gotten her from the shelter: she was missing her front left leg, and Bucky declared it had to be fate. The fact she wasn’t barking or overly energetic attracted Steve: was she playing hard to get? They knew she was at least nine years old, but Bucky liked having a ‘mature old lady’ in the house. 

They’d gotten Rocky a few months later. He had been disregarded at the shelter: he was yapping, standoffish, showing his little teeth at any indication of being touched. He was a scared, pitiful thing. He warmed up to them; he’s almost insufferably desperate to give and receive affection. Steve knows that Bucky would buy one of those baby slings just to wear him around the house if he ever got the idea. 

On the way home, Bucky gives Steve Missy’s leash so he can head inside a bakery and buy them each a muffin. They pick and nibble at them as they walk. 

“Let’s tidy up when we get home,” Steve says. 

“Of course.”

*

“This is so fun,” Michelle deadpans, jotting down the notes.

“Yeah, it is,” Peter says, earnestly. They’re doing a test tube experiment of LeChatelier's Principle. He just turned a vial blue with Chloride. It’s pretty sick. 

“You’re so lame,” she says, but she almost sounds affectionate about it. 

Ned gives him a thumbs up from across the room.

*

Steve’s just started wiping down the counter when Bucky gets an alert on his phone.

“Oh,” he mutters before straightening up, clenching his phone. “Natalia needs me to help her decrypt some files in Cyrillic. I’ll be in my office.” 

“You sure this isn’t some ruse to get out of cleaning?” Steve says, lightly. To tease. So Bucky’s face won’t be so flat like it is now. The blank expression he wears whenever he’s pulled into ‘work.’ Knowing that this isn’t Steve’s specialty, an area he’s been _made_ for. Something Bucky’s gotta do, staring at a computer screen even if he wants to look away. 

“No,” Bucky says with the smallest semblance of a smile. He leaves without another word up to the top floor. The door shuts with a quiet click that Steve can hear all the way down. 

Their townhouse has an upper floor that has been repurposed to be Bucky’s office, an art studio, and a makeshift gym instead of three bedrooms. 

Bucky’s office is more of a storage room with a computer than an actual office. It’s crammed with locked filing cabinets and state-of-the-art safes. There’s also an impressive wall lined with fine weaponry: guns, knives, and even a goddamn sword Thor gifted him. Steve can only guess what’s in all the safes and cabinets; he doesn’t exactly care to know. No dogs are allowed in the study; Bucky sometimes gets ‘far away’ when he does work. It’s best for him to be left alone. 

Steve prefers the art studio. He’s got three unfinished paintings drying against the wall. Every time he’s in the middle of one work, he gets an idea for another that he just has to start right away. He’s got plenty of paints, sketch books, and tools. He’s dabbled in sculpting and mosaics. 

Bucky’s office is dark with the windows blacked out. Steve’s office is full of light. It’s funny to think that two rooms serving such drastically different purposes reside on the same hall. 

He squirts some more spray onto the marble island. After a moment, he finds a pair of headphones on the coffee table and he plugs them into his phone so he can catch up on his missed podcast episodes.

*

Michelle sits a good six seats away from him and Ned at lunch. She’s reading her novel and munching on some carrot sticks and a sandwich.

Peter’s stuffing his mouth with tater tots in hopes that Ned won’t ask him anything too incriminating while Michelle’s sitting so close. 

It doesn’t pan out that way. 

“So, Betty’s wearing a light purple dress. Periwinkle? Lightish purple dress tomorrow. I got this tie and shirt combo to match with her. We’re color coordinating,” Ned says, too loudly for it not to be on purpose. “What are you wearing tomorrow, Peter?” 

Peter senses Michelle’s pause. He looks over at her briefly, and her eyes aren’t scanning the page. She’s listening. 

“Uh, I have this red and black tie. Because the theme’s Casino. So it looks like a card. Or poker chips. May thought that’d be clever.” 

“Huh. I wonder what to do with that information,” Ned says, still obviously faking it. 

Michelle’s reading her book again, but she’s got a small smile. 

“Y’know, are we actually gonna get to gamble?” Ned whispers. “I’ll wipe the floor with you guys. I have a great poker face.”

“Yeah, Ned. You’re never obvious.”

*

Steve’s finished cleaning long before Bucky re-emerges from his office. He’d worried that Bucky would still be up there when May and Peter Parker would arrive. So, he settled down on the sofa and read debriefing memos about this morning’s fiasco on his tablet. Maria Hill, who already dislikes interagency collaboration in terms of Captain America’s employment, is not amused that some agents resorted to calling Steve in for a rather trivial suspect’s interrogation. She’s tearing them a new one in the most polite, professional manner that it’s almost a delight to read.

“Look it here. Nice and neat, huh?” Bucky says. He plops on the couch next to Steve and puts his head on his shoulder. “Sorry I didn’t help you finish.” 

“You okay?” Steve asks softly. 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. It wasn’t anything too major this time. Just some hacked emails that she couldn’t access from her hotel’s server. Got a lotta details: locations, names, contacts. Because some dumbass is emailing his weapons dealers and other manufacturers on what he thought was an impenetrable server.” 

“Hm.” Steve tilts Bucky’s head up to kiss him softly. “So you’re good.” 

“Yeah, champ. I’m starved, too. I’ll go make myself something real quick.” He stands and heads to the fridge. He puts some Thai leftovers in the microwave, and he cracks open a can of Coke. 

“Peter’s gonna be here in like an hour. We all ready?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. I mean we finished the room. You cleaned up. It should be fine. We’re not hosting the Queen. Just a teenager with webs that shoot out of his wrists. Nothing to sweat over.” 

Steve snorts. “Didn’t he catch your arm one time? In Berlin when you were throwing a punch?” 

“Sam has to tell you that every goddamn time, huh?” Bucky mutters. He takes his food over to the table. “I kinda wanna ask him about the webs. See how they work. Like, does he have an unending amount of webs waiting for take off? Does he have to, I don’t know, recharge and grow more?” 

Come to think of it, there’s a lot of questions about the kid’s powers. How does a human body produce spider material? Is it his DNA in the webs? What’s to stop someone from taking the webs and analyzing its genetic components and link it to him? How much force can they handle? Do webs come out anywhere else? 

“Well, don’t hound him. We’re cool, remember?” Steve says instead. “Make him feel welcome.” 

“Of course, honey,” Bucky agrees.

“Oh, and Buck,” Steve starts, and he rises from the couch to give him the tablet. “Read the memo.” 

Bucky reads the memo with a growing, pleased smile on his face as he finishes his lunch. “Hill’s got a way with words, pal.”

*

Ned sneaks up behind him when he’s at his locker, packing up. “So you’re gonna go to their house now, right?” he asks, right in Peter’s ear. “I’m whispering so no one else can hear.”

“Yeah, Ned. May’s gonna drive me over. I have to turn off my location services, though. Security reasons.” 

“Whoa, did they like send you a rulebook? Terms of service?” 

Peter closes his locker. “No. I’m just thinking about everything that could go wrong. Imagine someone on SnapChat seeing me in Brooklyn.” 

Ned pulls out a photo and sharpie from his backpack. It’s a small print of Captain America; a still from after the Battle for New York. “Do you think you can get him to sign this?” 

“What? No, Ned!” Peter side eyes him. “And before you say it, you wouldn’t do it for me either. The Winter Soldier would rip that photo before I even handed it over.” 

Ned’s mouth falls into an “o” form. “Do you think he can break a Sharpie?” 

“Yes. His arm is metal. It can break a lot of things.” 

“Wouldn’t the ink just get all over him?” 

Peter gives him a baffled look. “W-What is this conversation about?” 

Ned huffs. “Well, if the Winter Soldier could snap a Sharpie in half that doesn’t mean he _would_. Because the ink would get all over him.” 

Peter stops to stare at Ned. “Are you done?” 

Ned thinks on it. “Yeah. I guess.”

*

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Bucky groans when Steve’s phone rings against the coffee table. It’s another restricted caller. “The one day we have actual plans is when they call us up, huh? Not a word all week, but now? Open season!”

“Shush!” Steve answers the phone, “I can’t answer with you rambling like that.” 

“Hell you are. I’m answering the phone,” and Steve lets him yank the phone away. He presses the green button speaker, “What the fuck do you want?” 

“Rogers, I thought you had better manners than that,” Nick Fury says. “Or do I have the pleasure of speaking to both Mr Rogers right now?” 

“We’re not married!” Bucky starts, but Steve takes the phone, “Nick? What’s going on?” 

“Well, thanks to the operative you quote unquoted interrogated this morning, the CIA and SHIELD have been tracking down four other operatives with similar motives. But, our friend this morning neglected to mention that two agents were former AIM experiments, and that they are not happy that we are trying to detain them. As in, they are shooting fire from their hands three blocks away from the UN building as we speak. So, if you two would be so kind—” 

“Nick, we’re already suiting up,” Steve blurts. “Did you hear us carrying the phone upstairs? Or were you too busy not getting to the point?” 

Bucky snorts, strapping into his tactical vest. “Should I bring my sword?” 

“Buck, you ask me that every time,” Steve grumbles. “Where exactly do we need to go, Nick?” 

“I’m sending you the coordinates now. And since he’s the only other Avenger, or technically pseudo-Avenger in the city, I’ll be calling the Spider-Man to assist you,” Fury adds. 

Steve and Bucky blanche. “We can pick him up,” Steve says. 

“You’re gonna carpool to Queens and then Manhattan? Fine, I guess. I’ll send you his address. Our agents will be there trying to subdue them, so try not to take your time. Goodbye.” 

“He says ‘goodbye,’’ Bucky points out, holstering a couple pistols and knives. “I’ll go start the car.”

Steve settles his shield against his back and heads down the stairs two at a time. Missy and Rocky look at him confused, probably because their other daddy just hightailed down to the garage. “We have to go. Be on your best behavior please,” he says, racing out the front door. He enables the alarm from his phone as he jumps into the passenger seat, and Bucky speeds to Queens.

*

Just as he’s walking through the front door, the hair on Peter’s arms stands up. “May?” he calls hurriedly.

No response. 

“May?” he repeats more panickedly. She emerges from her bedroom with a puzzled look. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asks, looking at the concern on his face. Then, her phone rings. “It’s Captain Rogers.” 

“Answer it! I think something’s wrong,” and May does. 

“Hello?” she says hesitantly.

“Mrs. Parker! Hi, this is Steve Rogers. Captain America. Well, uh. There’s been a change in plan, ma'm. We’ve got a situation in Midtown, and we’re going to need Peter’s help. Would it be okay if we came to pick him up?” 

“What?” May squawks, but Peter’s whipped the phone into his hands with a web and says, “Mr. Captain America, sir? What’s going on?” 

He might have lowered his voice down an octave. That's not important. 

“Two operatives are acting causing a disturbance-” Captain Rogers starts, but then the Winter Soldier butts in, “Oh, don’t sugarcoat it. We have two guys that are throwing fireballs and we need all the help we can get. You in?” 

“Uh, I mean I’d like to, but I um,,” Peter says, looking at May’s adamant disapproval. “I need to ask my aunt.” 

“Mrs. Parker, we’ll keep an eye on him. It’s only two operatives, and other CIA and SHIELD agents are already at the scene. It should be cut and dry. We’ll take him home with us right after,” Captain America asserts. “We need his help.” 

May finally nods her head. “Okay, fine. But, Peter, and I swear to god, the second things get too hard for you to handle—” she starts. 

“On my mother, I’ll keep him safe, Mrs. Parker,” The Winter Soldier swears. “And I’ll text you the moment we’re done and again when he’s at our home.” 

“Okay, where do I need to go?” Peter asks. “I have my suit on under—”

“Well, we’re on our way to get you. We’ll be outside your apartment building in, uh, three minutes?” 

“What?!” May and Peter gasp at the same time. 

“Lemme get my bags!” Peter runs back to his room and takes his Formal suit from his closet. May’s right behind him, holding his duffle bag and backpack. 

“This everything you need?” she asks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he promises. 

They race to the elevator with Peter’s bags in tow, run out the lobby and to the sidewalk to wait for Captain America and the Winter Soldier’s car to speed into sight. 

May squeezes his hand. “You’re almost an adult. If this is what you think is right, this is your choice. Just promise me you’ll be safe. And smart.” 

“I promise, May,” Peter vows. “I’ll miss you this weekend.” 

May pulls him into a hug. “I’ll miss you, too. Send me pictures of you in your suit, okay?”

Peter kisses her on the cheek, and a black car zooms closer towards them. “I think that’s them.” 

May pulls away. “I love you, Peter.”

*

Bucky rolls down the window once the car has screeched to a stop in front of May and Peter Parker. “Hi, Mrs. Parker. Peter,” he greets. He presses a button that unlatches the trunk, and Peter hauls his bags and what looks like a hanging suit into the trunk.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Parker,” Steve calls over him. “We’ll take care of him, and keep him out of trouble.” 

Mrs. Parker smiles softly, “No, thank you. For taking him in this weekend. It means a lot. I trust you both.” 

Peter hops into the backseat and straps in. 

“Ma’m,” Bucky says with a nod, and he rolls the windows up and puts the car in reverse. “Hold on tight, kid.”

*

The Winter Soldier is speeding in New York, and Captain America is making chitchat with him as though this is totally normal.

“So, is that suit for your formal?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” he answers, sitting to attention. “So, who are the bad guys, again? Firebreathing people?” 

“Two former AIM experiments turned operatives are trying to infiltrate the UN building. SHIELD and the CIA caught up to them on East 41st before they could make it, but they’re not backing down without a fight. So, do you have a date for this dance?” 

“No, sir. Can I change into my suit now?” 

“Yeah, we won’t look,” The Winter Soldier says. 

“Oh, I wear my suit under my clothes.” 

“Huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, then. Are you going to an after-party?” 

“Jesus, Steve. Not now,” The Winter Soldier grunts. “Now, hold onto your butts,” he orders, as they approach the Queens Midtown Tunnel.

“Is this one of those cars that can fly over other cars?” Peter asks eagerly. 

“No, because Stark’s father still hasn’t delivered on that. But, this car can drive on walls,” Captain America says, and the Winter Soldier shifts into some gear that allows them to zoom past the traffic on the tunnel at wild speed.

“Holy shit!” Peter grips his armrest.

*

They manage to control the situation pretty quickly. After Bucky parked a few streets away, Peter had sprung into action, thrusting himself into the air and swinging from the sides of the buildings. “Are you going high or coming with me?” Steve asked. He didn’t see Bucky pack his sniping rifle, but he can never be too sure.

Bucky clasped his shoulder than started sprinting ahead. “See you there, slow poke!”

After that, it was an easy match. Fury embellished there being agents on the scene; it was more like three agents running low on ammo that were hanging on by a thread. 

The Spider-Man swooped into action, webbing the two operatives to the pavement after a brief flurry of fire almost singed Bucky’s hair off. Some other henchmen were at the scene that Steve and Bucky easily took care of, and the suspects were hauled off in record time. They snuck off back to Bucky’s car before any press could follow them, and Bucky started driving like a normal person as they headed off to Brooklyn. Peter asked to use their phone charger, and Steve hooked it up, knowing that it’s probably best that Peter stay away from his phone with how excited he is. 

“Did you see that? I was like, “You’re not hotstuff! These webs have been measured to withstand high temperatures, punk!” because, get it, they were shooting fireballs from their hands and their skin was all orange, and they were all like, “what?” and I got them!” Peter spilled in a single breath as Steve typed out a text to May Parker. “Whoomp! Yeet, bitch!” 

“Yeet?” Bucky mutters, and Steve shrugs. May Parker asks to Facetime on Peter’s phone, and Steve hands the phone to Peter. 

“May! Hey! Oh my god, it was so easy! I was like all like, 'You’re not hotstuff—'” and he repeats the whole thing back to her. 

“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re alright. Captain Rogers just told me how well you handled it,” she says. "Now, be on your best behavior this weekend. If I get a call that you were out too late doing god knows what, you'll never hear the end of it. Got it?" Peter nods very seriously. "Good! I’m about to call a cab to LaGuardia. Text me when you get to their house safe, okay?” 

“Okay! I love you, May.” 

“Love you!” and the phone goes quiet. Peter flops against the seat. 

“So, that was cool.” 

“Yep,” Bucky agrees. “Did you have anything in mind for dinner?” 

Peter yanks his mask off and ruffles his hair. “I’m hungry. But, I’m up for anything.” 

“When we get home and get you unpacked, we can call something in,” Steve says.

*

Since Barnes is driving less like a maniac with a pimped-out supercar, it takes them a considerable amount of time to drive back to Brooklyn. Granted, these villains decided to strike during rush hour because they really do suck.

Peter spends most of the ride home watching out the window and scrolling down his Instagram feed. He likes some videos of dogs and science experiments. 

Finally, Barnes pulls into the garage of their home, and the garage whirs closed behind them. 

“Turn off the alarm,” he gruffs to Rogers, who takes out his phone and disables it from an app.

Neat. 

Rogers grabs his suit from the trunk and Barnes takes his bags for him. They all hustle up some stairs. 

A black shaggy terrier-mix ambushes his legs. The little thing's trying to jump up onto him, tail wagging and tongue licking. 

The Winter Soldier kneels and picks up the puppy. "This is Rocky." Rocky still tries to lick Peter as he squirms in Barnes's arms. 

He crosses into the living room. It's huge: a nice fireplace with a TV mounted on top of it. Two big couches. The living room fuses into the kitchen/dining room. It's not a chic, perfected, or modern area like Stark's building. It's cozy and lived in. There's blankets everywhere, rugs, picture frames, and worn coasters on the coffee table. 

Rogers says, nudging his head towards another case of stairs “Let’s go put these in your room.” 

They head up to the third floor. Rogers takes him into the first room on the left. One of the doors lining the hallway must be Barnes’s room and the other must be Rogers’s. 

Peter’s room isn’t as lived in as the rest of the house, but it is nice. Rogers beelines to a door that he opens, which is a small walk in closet and then he’s hanging his formal suit in the closet for him. Barnes drops his bags onto the bed then cracks a crick in his neck, all the while the little pooch is in his arms.

“Well, I’m gonna go change,” Barnes offers before leaving the room. 

Rogers hovers a little, asking, “Can I get you anything?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, sir. This is really nice. Thank you again.” 

Rogers bats his hand in a dismissive wave. “You’re welcome. I’m gonna go freshen up. I’ll let you settle in. When we’re all changed, we can all meet downstairs and think about dinner.” 

“Okay, cool,” and Rogers leaves him to it. 

He steps out of his suit, and he explores his ensuite bathroom. It’s clean and nice as well: a shower, some towels hanging on hooks, and little hotel shampoos and soaps. The set up of the nozzles aren’t complicated, so he’s able to heat the water up without burning or freezing himself.

*

Bucky pats the towel against his hair. “Don’t take too long in there; we barely worked up a sweat,” he teases, watching the blurry image of Steve rub soap over himself behind the steamed shower door. “God, it’s barely eighteen hundred.”

“We could all watch a movie?” Steve asks over the vent and the spray of the water. “After dinner?” 

“We could. He might just want us to leave him be, though.” 

Steve shuts off the water and steps out. Bucky whistles at him as he towels off. 

They redress into more comfortable clothes and head downstairs. They don't hear the shower running through the pipes, so Peter must be out. 

They're gonna have to all situate themselves for real now.

Bucky plays tug-of-war with Rocky over a stuffed animal. Steve paces.

“We’re cool, we’re hip,” Steve mutters to himself as they wait for Peter to come downstairs. “We got this.” 

“Are you telling me or yourself?” Bucky says. “Stop pacing.” 

Steve halts with a huff and goes to sit at the kitchen island. Rocky wins the round, and Bucky wallows in his defeat. 

When Peter finally walks downstairs, he asks, “It’s cool if I’m in my PJs?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Steve says. “Can we get you anything to drink?” 

“Uh-” 

“Please feel free to help yourself. We stocked our fridge and pantry for you,” Bucky interrupts. He opens the fridge and presents to Peter. 

“I don’t need to ask or anything?” Peter asks, eyebrow raised. 

“You want it, just grab it. Kid, if your appetite is anything like ours…” 

Peter grabs one of the bottles of rootbeer and twists off the cap. “Thanks. And thanks for letting me stay here. It means a lot to my aunt.” 

“Of course,” Steve says. “Make yourself at home.” 

Peter whips out his phone. “What’s the WIFI password?” Bucky recites the long arrangement of letters and numbers, and Peter taps into his phone. “Cool.” 

“So, what are you thinking for dinner?” Bucky asks, his metal fingers thrumming against the counter. 

Miss Priss finally makes an entrance after hearing the ‘dinner.’ Peter turns and says. “Oh you guys have another dog.” 

“That’s Missy. She’s the real boss of the house,” Bucky says fondly. “She heard the D-I-N-N-E-R word.” He tells Missy, “I guess it is time I feed you, huh?” Bucky picks up their food bowls and starts to fill them. “Don’t take it personally if she ignores you. She’s also a grump.” 

Peter watches as the Miss Priss sniffs at her dinner then deems it worthy to eat. “She’s fluffy. What happened to her leg?” 

“We don’t know; the shelter had to remove it after she came in with her leg broken real bad,” Bucky says, admiring his pup. “She gets around just fine.” 

“What kind of dog is she?” 

“We think she’s an Australian Shepard mix. Maybe Pomeranian or Chow Chow. We call her a ‘summa dog.’ Summa this, summa that. Her ears are pointy when she wants them to be, and her hair’s all fluffy. That’s all we got,” Bucky says. 

Peter finishes his root beer and then wipes his mouth. “That was really good. Thanks.” He heads to the fridge and helps himself to another one. 

Steve turns on the TV and hands the remote to Peter. “Put on whatever. So, Do you feeling anything in particular for dinner?” 

Peter’s stomach grumbles. “For some reason, I’m craving meat. Can we eat burgers or something?” 

Bucky and Steve share a look and nod. “I’ll call something in.”

*

Barnes and Rogers are kind of cool. Cooler than he’d thought.

They let him order three bacon cheeseburgers and two sides of fries like it was normal. Well, for them it was normal. Rogers scarfed down four burgers like it was an appetizer. Rogers and Barnes knocked down a couple beers, and Peter helped himself to some cola. 

They have a bunch of streaming services, and they let Peter pick out the movie. 

Their dogs are really cool, too. The girl, Missy, is really chill. She gnawed at a bone in her bed that was in front of the fireplace. Rocky, the little one, sat in his lap. Barnes might have taken a picture of the two of them, but he can’t be sure. 

It’s around nine-thirty when the movie ends, and Peter’s feeling pretty good. They have a nice, comfy house. The Winter Soldier isn’t scary. Captain America isn’t being strict or stern like he was in those videos he watched in detention. They’re pretty cool.

“You guys are cool,” he tells them as Barnes and Rogers clean up their bottles of beer and cans of Coke. “I’m gonna go to my room for the night. Do I need to wake up early or something?” 

Rogers shakes his head. “Sleep in however late you want. Good night. Let us know if you need anything.”

*

When Peter’s upstairs, Steve plasters himself against Bucky’s back and squeezes him. “He called us ‘cool,’ honey.”

Bucky pats his cheek. “I know. I heard.” He lolls his head against Steve’s shoulder. “We should go head up, too.” 

“I’ll let them out,” Steve whispers in his ear, kissing his temple before he detaches himself. 

Bucky gives him a wink as he heads upstairs to bed.

*

Not only are they cool, but their WIFI is fast as _fuck_.

He sends a Snap of himself, cozied in his temporary bed to Ned with the caption “dude they r so cool.” 

Ned sends him one back with the discarded Captain America print. “cool enough to sign this?’ 

He sends a pic of his face with an exaggerated frown. “bruh” 

Peter takes his laptop from his bag and plugs his charger into the outlet by the bed. He shuffles around his bag for his headphones and turns on some TV show on Netflix. 

Then, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yes?” he answers, and Rogers opens it. He’s got Rocky in his arms, and a question on his face. 

“He’s been sitting at your door. I think he wants to sleep in here with you...if that’s okay?” 

Peter pats the space by his hips. “Sure. He’s very cuddly, sir.” 

“Steve. You can call me, Steve. And yes, he is. He likes you a lot. I can bring his bed in here, too.” 

“Okay,” Peter says, and Rogers, no, _Steve_ deposits Rocky onto the bed. Rocky bounces towards him, curling into a little ball by his hips. 

Steve leaves and comes back with a little doggie bed and a Greenie bone. “If he gets too clingy, just let me know.” 

Peter rubs Rocky’s little back. “Okay. Good night.” 

“G’night.”

*

Bucky’s climbing into bed once Steve’s re-entering their bedroom. “The baby’s in there with him?” He settles against his pillows.

“Yeah,” Steve says, closing their door. “Peter’s a good kid.” He bundles his shirt off in the direction of the hamper and makes the shot.

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, grabbing the remote. “You locked the house down?” 

“Yeah.” Steve walks over to him, and he detaches Bucky’s arm. Once he’s put it away in the closet, Steve slips into his sweatpants. “You should get the app on your phone, honey. So you don’t have to do it manually.” 

“Well, what if the app goes down? Or has bugs?” Bucky points out with a yawn. He flicks to a streaming service and chooses one of those reality competition shows where people are racing around the world. 

“Huh,” Steve grunts in response. He heads into the bathroom and brushes his teeth. “What should we do tomorrow?” 

Bucky clicks his tongue. “Well, we can offer him to go run with us. He might sleep in. We can make breakfast here. I’m more than happy to laze about with you as usual. He does have that formal, so if he needs us, we can help him get ready.” 

“What, you’ll show him some dance moves?” Steve says after he spits out his toothpaste. “Teach him how to woo the ladies? You might be too old-fashioned.” 

Bucky scoffs. “Honey, some practices are timeless. Works on even the pickiest of dames, like you.” 

Steve turns to give him a unamused but flattered look as he fills up a glass from the tap. He carries it and himself over to the bed, and he places it on the side table. He pulls down his sheets and crawls in, stuffing some pillows to support his back against the headboard.

*

Rocky ends up burrowing under the covers by his feet, so Peter rolls to the otherside of the bed to give him space. He switches his laptop for his phone.

May’d sent him a text a while ago when she landed, and she sends him another one of her posing with the bride to be. It looks like they’re at a nice venue, and May’s beaming. 

He’s glad she’s having a good time. She deserves to have fun. He sends a picture of himself in bed giving a thumbs up. 

“youre in bed early” May sends back. “having a good time?” 

He is having a good time. 

“yeah” he types back. “love u, have a good night” and follows that with a string of moon and ZZZ emojis. She sends him back a heart. 

There’s a scratch outside his door. He climbs out of bed, and outside the door there’s Missy sitting expectantly. 

“Hello there,” he tells her, and she squeezes past him into his room. She then sits next to the bed and looks at him. “You’re a bossy girl, huh?”  
He helps her up onto the bed, and she scratches at the quilt until she flops down with a huff. She’s very conveniently chosen the spot right next to the pillow Peter’d just been resting against, so he figures he’ll take the other side of the bed. Rocky’s still by his feet, so he curls in a ball. 

He whips his phone out again and puts on the same TV show from last night. He has to rewatch the episode because he hadn’t been paying attention enough to absorb it. 

Missy snores a little bit, but he doesn’t mind. After two episodes, he closes his eyes and puts his phone under his pillow. Missy’s slow breathing helps lull him to sleep.

*

Bucky turns the TV off. It’s about 23:00. Steve’s asleep. Bucky figures he was more exhausted than he let on. He throws the extra pillows behind his back to the floor and settles down. Steve hadn’t removed the pillows he’d used to keep his head up, and it’ll hurt like a bitch in the morning if he sleeps with his neck like that.

He taps Steve until he wakes up. Steve blinks at him. “Huh?” 

“Lemme get these pillows for you,” Bucky says, and he does just that. Steve lets him, and he flops down, loose and sleepy. 

“Mmm, good night,” he whispers to Bucky, curling onto his side facing him. 

Bucky strokes his hair lightly as he turns onto his stomach. “Good night, honey.”


	4. Saturday (Part One)

*

Saturday

Part One

Something is licking Peter’s face. What the fuck.

He rolls over, and his toe nudges a lump by his foot. He rubs blearily at his eyes. This isn’t his room. This isn’t his bed. This isn’t...

Oh, yeah. 

Missy licks his cheek again. He digs his face under the covers, but her snout is long enough to chase him with another lick. This is a losing battle; Peter must admit defeat. 

He sits up and sips from a glass of water on his bedside. He checks his phone. It’s 12:40.

Ugh.

Missy stares at him, at the water, then back at him. 

“What?” Peter asks her. She sniffs at the air, and she whistles through her nose. “You want my water?” 

If a dog could rolls its eyes, Missy would. Or maybe, the Spider gave him the exclusive ability to read this one dog’s mind because he’s getting the vibe that Missy thinks he’s an idiot for not realizing what she wanted earlier. 

“Um,” Peter looks around. He doesn’t want to get out of bed because it’s comfy, so he gingerly pours some water into the palm of his hand and presents it to her, just below her snout for maximum convenience. 

She is not amused. His hand is not a worthy vessel for her drinking. 

“There’s only one cup!” he tells her, begging for mercy. She nose whistles again. 

Peter sighs and shakes the water off his hand and dries it against his sheets. He places the glass of water on the bed, just below her nose, and he holds it steady. She laps from the cup, and when she’s done, she just cozies back on her pillow and closes her eyes. 

She’s a heartbreaker, huh. 

Missy drank at least half of the glass, and Peter’s not gonna drink from it again, obviously. He just hopes he remembers that in the morning, or hopefully, doesn’t wake up with his throat drier than a desert. 

He falls back against the sheets, accidentally landing right on the wet spot from the water. He shifts to get comfortable, and this awakens Rocky. He emerges from the depths of the covers, and he curls himself on a ball right on top of Peter’s chest. 

Peter contemplates moving Rocky. He’s a little dog; he could literally sleep anywhere else on this huge bed. Rocky snuffles. 

“Fine,” Peter tells himself, and he keeps still, not to disturb the two dogs in his bed.

*

“Honey? Steve?”

“Whadisit? You good?” Steve reaches for him. Bucky plasters himself to Steve’s back, and by the pressure poking at the small of his back, Steve can figure out what’s going on. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. I’m feeling…” he mouths aimlessly on his face, his hips jerking slowly against Steve’s ass. He feels Steve’s lips stretch in a smile. “You wanna?” 

“Woke up at...” Steve turns to see the alarm clock. “One-thirty in a mood?” 

Yes, he did. Buck rolls him onto his back and hefts on top of him to make his point. 

“Mhm.” He ever so coyly rubs his stub over Steve’s chest. “You feeling for it?” 

Who could resist _that_? 

“Of course I am. But, Peter’s down the hall. He’ll hear,” he whispers, stroking Buck’s back. “Kid’s got better hearing than we do.” 

Buck huffs at that, voice scratchy and sleepy, “He’s in my house. He’ll live.” 

Steve tutts, amused and enamored by Buck’s sleepy, horny grumpiness. “He’s our guest.” 

Buck grumbles and kisses on Steve’s chin. He laments all pitiful, “I’m in my bed. Our bed. In my goddamn house with my baby.” 

“I know,” he soothes. 

“We’ll be quiet. Not a peep.”

Steve gives him an incredulous look and a stern, “Buck.” 

“My bed, my baby, and he don’t _want_ me.”

“Shh. Honey, I know. But who insisted on having a guest room? Who charmed the hell outta Mrs Parker and said we’d love to help when we could? Hm? Who was that?” 

Buck ‘hmphs’ at that and deflects, “Why don’t you just fuck me a little bit? Just a little bit.” He gropes at Steve’s pajama pants before Steve holds his wrist. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he whispers, trying not to laugh. It is funny: Bucky all sleepy and moody in a way only Steve sees him act. It’s endearing and annoying and absolutely worth waking up at an ungodly hour for. But he won’t laugh in his face, at him, ever for wanting it. 

Buck gives up, rolls off Steve, and flops back onto his back with a dignified ‘ugh.’ 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Steve chides, and he kisses Buck’s shoulder and the tip of the stub to watch his nose scrunch up in an attempt not to giggle. It's a ticklish spot. “Don’t you go’n mope around me. ‘s go back to sleep, hmm?”

Steve settles down back onto his pillow and pulls Bucky in so they can spoon. Bucky relaxes against his chest, and he nuzzles his head back and pouts. Steve gives him a nice little kiss. “Love you,” he murmurs into his skin. 

Buck gives another tired ‘hmph’ and rubs his face against the pillow. “Love you, too.”

*

Peter’s resigned himself to the role of Dog Servant when a wet snout rubs at his neck. A nose whistle follows. Peter blindly reaches for the glass of water on the side table and holds it against the mattress. He hears the ‘schlop-schlop-schlop’ of Missy’s tongue sipping up the water at it until she’s satisfied. He puts the glass back on the table. Rocky has moved since he fell asleep. Peter opens his eyes and sits up, patting for Rocky’s lump.

Rocky’s decided to cuddle up to his gracious sister. Peter dares not disturb him. 

Now he has the whole side of the bed to himself, Peter starfishes as much as he can. He can rub his feet over the cool spots.

*

Steve wakes before Buck does. It is technically Bucky’s turn to let out the dogs, but Steve’s fine to take over today.

They must have changed positions sleeping because Steve’s got Bucky halfway on top of him with his arm around his waist like a viper. He gives a tentative wiggle. Buck tightens his arm’s grip. 

“Buck.”

“No.” 

“Honey, I gotta get up.” 

“No.” 

“Gotta check on the dogs. Don’t you want some coffee?” 

“Cuddle me.” Steve can’t resist that, so he rubs Bucky’s back. Buck sighs content at that and pushes his face up so Steve can kiss his forehead. He mouths at Steve’s neck before kissing Steve’s mouth in quick succession of pecks. Once he’s had his fill, he loosens his grip. “Love you.” 

Steve ruffles his hair. “I love you. You sour puss.” 

Buck snorts at that and rolls off him. “Bring me up a mug?” he asks, sliding into Steve’s side of the bed once Steve’s up and attem. He likes how warm the impression of Steve’s body is on the mattress. 

“Mhm.” 

Steve slowly cracks open the guest room door so it won’t squeak. “Rocky,” he whispers softly, but his voice a little high. “Come on out, big boy.” 

There’s no response. 

Steve pulls the door open a little wider, and he’s both surprised and endeared by the image before him. It looks like Missy invited herself in, and that they managed to all share the bed. 

Missy will need help jumping down, so he tiptoes in. Peter’s eyes flash open. 

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, walking normally now that Peter’s awake. “I gotta let them out.” 

Peter blinks. “Oh.” 

“C’mon you two,” Steve says. He helps Missy kerplunk down to the ground before scooping Rocky into his hold. “Outside,” he says, and Missy follows them out the door and downstairs. 

He’s disabled the alarm, and once the door’s open Rocky zoomies outside. Missy won’t budge. 

“I’m not falling for that, Miss Priss,” Steve tells her. “Try that on your other Daddy, tomorrow morning.” She looks at him. “It’s not even raining, honey.” 

Steve has to fake her out by stepping outside so she will follow, and he maneuvers back inside before she realizes she’s been bamboozled. She looks in at him through the screen door indignantly before she decides to proceed with her morning business. 

It is a pretty day for February in New York. Miss Priss is over her head. 

Though Buck and he would probably go on a jog and stop somewhere to eat breakfast, Steve considers the fact Peter might not be inclined to go run with them. Paparazzi typically don’t photograph Steve and Bucky unless they’re in Hero-ing Attire, but on the off chance someone recognizes Peter...it’s too much of a risk for the kid. 

He starts up the coffee maker and preheats the oven. 

We can make them breakfast here just fine, Steve thinks, as he grabs a frying pan from the clutter of pots and pans from a cabinet. If the smell wakes up the kid, he can come on down, too. No need for us to pull him out of bed.

*

There’s bacon somewhere. Peter opens his eyes blearily, but his nose is fine-tuned and alert. His stomach grumbles.

He rolls around in the sheets, blearily aware that the Dogs have left so he has free reign of the bed. Peter feels his phone vibrate under his pillow, so he slips it out and checks it. 

“morning honey im getting ready for bridal brunch and hope ur doing well. Did u sleep ok?” May had typed. 

“Yes i am having good time. I slept with two dogs next to me bc i am chosen one May. hope u are having fun!” he sends back and rolls out of bed. 

He’s not sure if he should change out of his pajamas, so he goes for a healthy middle and keeps his sweatpants on but puts a hoodie over his rumpled t-shirt. 

Peter stumbles in the kitchen. He’s seen Captain America in his shining glory, and now he’s seeing Steve Rogers right after he wakes up. He’s got rooster hair and some raggedy sweatshirt on over pajama pants. His eyes are soft. Both dogs are by his feet; Rocky obviously begging and Missy expectantly waiting for some crumbs to drop but too proud or obedient to hover as shamelessly as her brother.

“Good morning, Peter.” He tips a mug in his direction. “Want any?” 

“Yeah please.” 

There’s something in the oven baking as well, and he’s got a mixing bowl out too. 

“Help yourself,” Steve says, using a fork to transfer some finished slices of bacon to the plate before covering them up with a paper towel and putting the plate in a warming drawer. From what Peter can see, he’s already made an entire package based on how much is in there. “We have half and half and Vanilla creamer on the left side of the fridge.” 

Peter pours himself a mug and decides to be fancy and try the creamer. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, after taking a sip. 

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, just relax. Pancakes sound good to you? I’ve got hashbrowns goldening up in the oven, and some bacon and eggs in the warming drawer. You can start serving yourself now if you don’t wanna wait.” 

“I can wait.” Peter sits at the island barstool and sips his coffee. The Vanilla is quite an assortment with the coffee. Quite refined. 

“So, anything big except for the formal going on today?” Steve asks, pouring batter onto a griddle. It sizzles, and the smell makes Peter’s stomach roar again. 

“Not really. I mean, I have some homework I could do. But I’m not really stressed about it,” Peter insists, shrugging. 

Steve nods. “You can turn on the TV if you want,” he says after a moment of listening to the griddle sizzle. “The remote should be on the coffee table.” 

Peter rises and heads over to the living room. He’s tempted to sit in the puffy recliner Barnes occupied last night, but he’s not sure if that’s cool. May has her spot on the couch that Peter — even if May isn’t home — daren’t sit in. This might be claimed territory. 

He turns on the morning news, and he safely settles on the couch. None of the dogs come with him; they’re still begging at Steve’s feet. Even though the news is playing, Peter scrolls on his phone.

*

Bucky rolls over, still sleepy. His morning cuddle with Steve feels like it was ages ago. Steve must have brought him up a mug of coffee because it has long since cooled. He sits up and takes it, sipping at it without having to blow on it. Steve even put his sugar and cream in there for him. He can drink it black; it’s those little things, however, that warm Bucky right up inside.

He can hear the Kid’s awake and downstairs. He can smell what Steve is cooking for breakfast. 

But, Bucky just sits and stares at the wall for a moment. It’s good for him to just sit and think mindlessly. He shakes out the loose ponytail and brushes his hair with his fingers, pulling apart the tangles and knots. 

He puts his mug back on the side table and rises. Making the bed with one arm is not particularly easy, but he’s used to doing it. He tugs up the sheets, stacks up the pillows, and straightens the comforter. Folding blankets at the end of the bed feels like a sisyphean task because they always end up bundled. He does it anyway. 

The bed is tidy and standard. He pulls the curtains back and rolls up the blinds to let some of the February sun filter in. 

He grabs his mug and heads downstairs.

*

“Thank you, sir. Steve,” Peter says when a huge plate of breakfast is placed before him. They’re at the kitchen table now, and Steve’s set it up. Butter, syrup, creamer, salt, hot sauce, orange juice and jam are in the center. Peter helped setting out the silverware and glasses.

Barnes stalks into the kitchen with what looks like a souvenir mug from Washington DC. And, Peter guesses that if the Winter Soldier had pajamas it would look like the ensemble of black flannel pants and the black tank top he’s wearing. But, the Soldier has a metal arm. Barnes has a stub: a spidery, pink mound that meets his shoulder. 

Peter’s never seen Barnes without The Arm. 

“Keep your mouth open wide like that, one of you spider friends might crawl in,” Barnes mutters, but not unkindly. Almost like he’s amused, maybe. Peter didn’t realize he’d been staring, jaw slacked. 

Barnes grabs the coffee pot and pours himself a fresh cup. He heads to the fridge, but Steve says, “I put it on the table, Buck. Lemme fix your plate. Go’n sit down; I’ll bring it to you.” 

Barnes nods and heads over to the table. He slides into a chair across from Peter and pours in the half and half. “Rocky, baby, I don’t even have any food,” he tells his feet. He picks Rocky up to show it to him. The poor thing’s heartbroken there’s no plate in front of him, and Barnes plops him back down by his feet. Missy’s still by Peter, sitting pretty as though she hadn’t woken him up twice during the night.

Steve brings Barnes a stacked up plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Barnes tips his head back, and Steve gives his hair a noogie. Barnes scowls at that.

“I’m almost done,” Steve says, and he heads back to the griddle. 

Barnes slathers up his pancakes with butter and drizzles syrup over them. He dabs some hot sauce into his eggs and adds some salt to his hashbrowns. He doesn’t even use a knife, he just uses a fork to decimate his pancakes into his mouth. 

Peter and Barnes eat while Steve finishes up. He heads over to the table finally, with a stacked plate. “There’s some more of everything in the warming drawer,” he says, sitting down in his seat next to Barnes. 

“You sleep good, Parker?” Barnes asks, after crunching off the end of a piece of bacon. 

“Yes. Yes, sir.” 

“Would you call yourself a deep sleeper?” 

“Yeah, probably. Yes, sir.” 

“Hear anything suspicious last night?” 

“No, was I supposed to? Did something— ’ 

“Nope. No. Just wanted to know. Glad you slept so well.” 

He gives Rogers a leering look. Steve gives him a warning glance. Barnes backs off. 

Barnes explains, “I had this bet with Steve here that you teenagers could sleep through anything. I was about to start a ruckus and he stopped me. But, good to know.” 

Steve clears his throat, hurriedly covering his pancakes with syrup. “I saw that the dogs slept with you. Did they cause you any trouble?” he asks, trying to shift the conversation from whatever direction Barnes had been veering. 

Barnes raises a brow. “Both of them?” 

“Yeah. Missy scratched at my door, so I let her in. You were right; she is bossy,” Peter says, but not in complaint. “She did this nose whistle thing when she got thirsty at like midnight. I ended up letting her have my cup for herself.” 

“Ah, the old water trick,” Barnes says, almost fondly. “She takes no prisoners when she’s thirsty.” 

“If they were too much, we can have them back in our room,” Steve insists before taking a bite. 

Okay. Peter knew that Barnes and Steve were roommates. Living together. He didn’t know they shared a room. There were two other doors in the hallway. Don’t they sleep separately? 

“She should know better, though. Normally we can’t get her out of bed, so if she’s waking you up in the middle of the night, she’s probably just being a little diva for no reason at all,” Barnes adds. “I wonder if the Black Widow program trained dogs for stealth and manipulation,” he jokes. “We might have one of them.”

“Do the dogs usually sleep in your room?” Peter asks, nonchalantly. 

Steve nods. “Yeah, I mean Rocky usually sleeps in our bed with us. Missy stays downstairs most of the time unless she’s feeling particularly Prissy.” 

“She has a bed upstairs and one in our room,” Barnes clarifies. 

Peter doesn’t know how else to say it but, “You guys share a room?” 

Barnes stops mid-chew and _looks_ at him. “Yeah.” Like it’s normal. 

“Oh,” Peter says and drops it. 

If he and Ned got a sweet place to live, maybe they’d also share a room. The other door must have been a closet or whatever. 

That’s very noble of them, Peter thinks, that they share a room so Peter can have one. Maybe they’d been lying about having a guest room just to make Aunt May feel better about having him stay over? Either way, that’s a very Captain America thing to do. 

“These are amazing,” Peter insists, changing the subject. “Thank you for making breakfast.” 

“Oh, not a problem,” Steve insists, shoveling his eggs into his mouth. “We don’t cook enough here anyway. I’m glad it’s good.” 

“I’m gonna go get seconds,” Peter says, and he goes over to the warming drawer. Missy stays behind, schmoozing up to Steve now. 

He grabs some slices of bacon and adds some more pancakes to his plate. 

Peter admires that Steve cooks the bacon properly. It’s not black or scorched; it is perfectly fried for Maximum Crunch. Not enough people do that. 

Back at the table, Peter digs into his new plate. When he reaches for the butter, something catches his eye. Because now, for some reason, Peter notices the golden band on Roger’s left hand. On the ring finger. And it’s not one of those fashionable rings or being worn as a statement (like MJ says when she wears rings on her wedding finger because of a Society Cannot Stop Her attitude). It looks like the one Uncle Ben had. 

“You’re married?” Peter blurts. 

“What?” Steve sputters, mouth full. 

“The ring. I just noticed it,” Peter explains, almost hyper-ly. Like he’s trying to not sound like he’s going crazy. “That’s a wedding ring, right?” 

“Yes…” Steve says slowly. “Engagement ring to be exact.” 

“Congratulations?” Peter offers. “Who are you getting married to?” 

Barnes snorts, and Steve’s eyebrows furrows. “I’m sorry?” he looks very confused. 

“Like, who are you engaged to? And how did I not know you were getting married?” Peter squawks, talking faster. “This is so much new information I didn’t know that I’m learning right now and I’m sorry I’m acting so weird about it I’m having a lovely time I promise I just literally noticed the ring on your finger and it looks like the one my Uncle Ben had I just never knew that you were in a relationship with someone and I guess that’s not my business or whatever but I mean—” 

“Kid, slow down,” Barnes cuts him off. “Take a breath before your brain runs outta air.” 

Steve’s still wearing in his confused face. “You don’t know who I’m engaged to?” he asks, almost like he’s not sure if Peter’s joking.

“No.” 

Barnes snorts again. “You should guess who it is.” 

“Buck,” Steve chides, but Barnes insists, “No, I wanna know who he thinks it is.” 

Peter racks through his brain for any modicum of an idea revealing who Steve Rogers is marrying. How did he not know this? He can only think of Peggy Carter, but (Rest in Peace) she is not here. But then there’s...

“Oh! Is it that blonde lady? From the CIA?” Peter offers. 

The Super Soldiers blink at him. 

Peter continues, talking fast again, “I mean, Mr Stark told me about her helping you in Berlin and stuff no well _allegedly_ she like helped you guys out in Berlin and got in trouble for it and I remember hearing Mr Stark talk about how she used to like live next to you in DC and that you guys were like trying to be a thing but then all the stuff happened with the Accords and you were a fugitive and then you couldn't really be together because she was like an agent and you were all over the world but like if you guys made it work out that's like super cool I've never met her I bet she's like really cool and—” 

Then suddenly, Barnes roars into laughter. 

“Oh, god,” Barnes wheezes. He looks over at Steve and descends even deeper into a fit of honest-to-god _cackling_ , patting his only wrist lamely at Steve’s side. “Oh, Sweet Jesus.” 

“Oh wow,” Peter starts. “I’m guessing that was wrong?” 

Steve huffs and gives Barnes a warning look. “That’s enough,” he scolds in a Captain America voice. It must not work on Barnes the way Peter assumes literally EVERYONE would respond because he’s still cracking up. “Buck, seriously.” 

Barnes clutches his chest and starts to calm, his laughter hiccuping. “Oh, wow. Oh, god. I don’t mean to embarrass you, but whoo boy.” He snickers a bit more, and Steve glares until it dies off. 

"Really?" Steve says, unimpressed. "It's not that funny."

After a moment, Barnes says calmly, wiping at his eyes. “Kid, we’re engaged.” 

“You're also getting married?” 

“No, _we_ are getting married.” Barnes points at Steve, then back at himself repeatedly. 

“To each other?” 

“Yes.” 

“What?” Peter gasps, almost like he’s choking. “Really?”

Barnes and Steve give each other a look. “You really didn’t know?” Steve asks, incredulously. 

“No!” Peter gasps. “I thought you two were roommates! Like two bros living together?” 

“Two bros?” Barnes repeats. He gives Steve a look, eyebrows raising up and down. “I like that.” 

“And, like whoa, I’m not like weird about you two being future husbands and stuff. I just genuinely did not realize that. I mean yeah you guys live together but I guess I just didn’t know or notice anything I mean during the movie you didn’t sit together and there’s like three doors upstairs so I thought each of you had their own room and wow I mean all the signs were in front of me and I didn’t even notice like we literally just talked about how the dogs sleep in your room and that you share a room and I guess that went ZOOM over my head and I mean it’s not a bad thing on your parts I am a very oblivious person sometimes even May will say that.” Peter takes a breath. “And like, it’s super cool I guess that it’s like a private secret thing or is it not and I just have my head under a rock but I mean this might be an Avengers thing where only Avengers know because you're an Avenger and are you an Avenger Sergeant Barnes I don't know you might be in the same boat as me because I’m not technically an Avenger I'm more of a prospective one or a freelancer I guess I don't know Mr Stark made me the suit and I usually go out to help when I need to but like I don't have the legit title of being an Avenger like you do so I guess I wouldn’t know but that is so cool and I’m really excited for you guys but like when did this happen and can I come to the wedding or is that like gonna be under wraps because I mean I totally understand if it’s a low-key thing and if I need to keep this a secret like I totally got you guys.” 

Steve and Barnes blink at him. 

“Thanks,” Barnes says. 

“Peter, seriously, don’t worry about it. He is just giving you a hard time,” Steve insists. “We want you to feel comfortable here, okay?” 

“I don’t blame you for not figuring it out. My ring doesn’t mesh well,” Barnes says, looking pointedly at his stump. 

“Yeah, and we didn’t publicize it or anything,” Steve adds. “I guess we just assumed you knew we were a couple. Not many people know we’re engaged though. Only a select few, really.” 

“Huh, cool. Now I’m one of them?” Peter asks, beaming. Steve nods, and Peter fist pumps. “Neat!” 

It might not be the most thrilling tidbit ever, but Peter Parker is officially in on Super Secret Stuff. This is awesome. 

“So, we’re fine?” Steve asks, brows muddled in concern. 

“Oh, yeah totally!” Peter waves it off, cramming some bacon into his mouth. “This is just so cool. Congratulations, again.” 

Barnes is blushing a little bit, and he lets Steve nudge him in the side in a hokey way. “Thanks, kid.” 

Peter adds after swallowing, “So, like are you gonna keep your names?” 

Steve smiles and shrugs. “We’re thinking about what we’ll do.” 

Barnes leans forward like he’s about to spit some serious business and stares Peter dead in the eyes, “But, in your opinion what sounds better? Bucky Rogers or Steve Barnes?” 

Peter shrugs. “Well, both sound nice. Are you considering a hyphenated name?” 

Barnes clicks his tongue. “That’s modern. Fashionable. What’s better: Barnes-Rogers or Rogers-Barnes?” 

“Um, that question is loaded with a responsibility too great for me to handle, so I’m not gonna answer,” Peter says after a moment of serious deliberation. 

Steve laughs, and Barnes chuckles. “You’re a good kid, Parker,” Barnes says, tilting back a sip of coffee. 

They scarf down the rest of the servings in the warming drawer, and they watch the morning news program. Well, Peter interchanges between scrolling through his phone and watching the news. He can multitask. 

MJ’s got a cool Instagram story. She posts a lot of art, and she’s been doing a weekly artist tribute on her page. He likes getting glimpses into her mind. 

Barnes and Steve insist on cleaning up when Peter offers to help. They shoo him, promising they have it under control. 

“We usually take a jog or a walk in the morning,” Barnes offers, putting the mugs in the dishwasher. “But, I know that might be a little risky. I’d hate for you to have to stay inside all day.” 

Peter frowns. “Why can’t I...oh. Someone might see me with you and...oh.” 

“Yeah,” Barnes agrees, drying his hand on the dish towel. “We could just stay home. We have a gym on the third floor. Treadmill. Some weights. Feel free to use it.” 

Peter scrunches his nose and types into Google: things to do in Brooklyn. One of the top results is the Brooklyn Museum, and then Peter thinks about MJ. What a cool icebreaker that would be?! 

He chimes, “What if we all went somewhere public? Like I just so happen to be in the same place as you guys?” 

“Like where?” Steve asks, wiping down the table. 

“The Brooklyn Museum?” Peter squeeks. 

They look at him then each other. 

“I mean, that could work. You wanting to see something there?” Barnes asks, starting the dishwasher. 

“Um, there’s some cool art there. I wanna take some pictures.” He plays it cool. “I like to look at art.” 

Steve nods his head, impressed. “They do have cool art there.” 

Barnes squints his eyes. “Is there a particular piece you’re itching to see?” 

“No, no. Um, just wanting to see some art,” Peter insists. 

It’s weird that the Winter Soldier can see right through him. “Okay.” 

“But, if you guys wanna go take a run like you normally do, that’s cool. I can stay here with the dogs and chill,” Peter says, nonchalant. “I wanna catch up on this episode of, uh, this Netflix show.” 

Barnes and Steve share a look. “Alright,” Steve says.

*

Bucky ties his sneakers singlehandedly; it’s a cool party trick if anyone asks. He’s a quick dresser even without his prosthetic.

“Hon, I didn’t expect that at all.” Steve’s still changing into his running attire. “Are we that un-obvious?” 

Steve offers a shrug. “I know. I don’t blame him.” He throws on a That Running Shirt that’s too fucking small (smaller than the small that Steve typically squeezes into, mind you) and he fucking knows it makes Bucky drool because of how it makes his titties bounce when he runs. “I hope he doesn’t feel embarrassed about it. He’s a good kid.”

Bucky’s still a little gobsmacked by the shirt, but he wisens up. “Yeah. Can we do my arm?” 

Steve nods and helps him reattach it. Bucky wishes he had some workout clothes tight enough to tease Steve, but he is a practical man who needs long-sleeves and stretchy shirts so his wardrobe unfortunately reflects that. 

Then, Steve bends down to tie his sneakers. When he stands up, Bucky’s pressed against his back and groping his chest. Steve settles into his hold, letting Buck feel him up and grunt little pleased praises. He whispers to Buck, “Since Peter’s gonna watch the dogs, you wanna race? Run a few laps no holds barred?” in a teasing tone. 

Bucky huffs. “Sure, baby,” He kisses Steve’s neck. “You ready?” Steve nods. Bucky doesn’t pull away just yet: he whispers into his ear, “God I wanna unwrap you and fuck you right off the bed.” Then, he motions “After you!” to Steve and gives his ass a loving squeeze as he passes. 

Steve’s gonna have to run hard to get some frustration out.

*

Peter’s on the couch, the episode already playing. Rocky’s on his lap getting a belly rub, and Missy’s back on her bed, chewing on her Greenie.

“We shouldn’t be too long,” Barnes says, pulling on his gloves. “We usually lap around Prospect a few times.” 

“Isn’t that like...a lot?” Peter asks. 

Barnes nods. “Yeah. It is. We don’t do it too often. Missy’s not the running type.” 

“Oh wow,” Peter says. 

“It takes a while to walk there and back, but I mean, we should be back before lunch at least,” Barnes clarifies. “We can get lunch here and then head to the museum by mid-afternoon.” 

“It’s cool. I honestly won’t even get up from this spot, probably,” Peter jokes. Rocky is comfortable in his lap, and he’d rather not disturb the little dog. 

Steve comes down the stairs, and he looks a little disoriented for some reason. Huh. 

“The alarm’s disabled, so if they have to go outside, it’s fine,” Barnes adds. “Steve, are you bringing your wallet?” 

Steve nods and pats the zipped pockets of his running pants. “Yep.” 

“Okay,” Barnes says. He coos to the dogs from the front door, “Bye bye! Be good!” when Rocky leaps to attention and Missy looks up after hearing the door open. 

Steve follows right after him, waving quickly. “Text me if you need anything, okay?” 

Peter nods. 

The door shuts, and Rocky eventually plops back down. He pets his little back, and he kicks his feet up to rest on the coffee table. He whips out his phone and takes a selfie on Snapchat to send to Ned. It’s him at a low angle with Rocky on his lap: "dont talk to me or my son ever again" 

Ned sends him one back: "he is too cute to be ur son"

*

Steve wipes from his brow, and he checks his pulse. He’s got Bucky beat by at least thirty seconds, and he’s definitely gonna gloat about it (if he can catch his breath).

“Oh, hey!” he hears from the side, and there’s Bucky, leaning against a tree. “I wondered what was taking you so long.” 

Steve does a double take. “I thought you were behind me?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Nope.” He sidles up to Steve and smirks. “Guess I had something pent up that gave me an extra edge.” 

They just lapped Prospect Park three times, and he may be a Super Soldier but he’s a little worn out. The cold air makes the metallic taste in his mouth he gets when running really hard even more salient. Yet, he still finds what Buck just said _very interesting_. 

“Y’know, I just realized we’re near the Museum,” Steve says instead. “Huh.” 

Bucky tightens his ponytail and shrugs. “Well, it looks like we’ll be back here again.” 

Steve nods. “Yeah.” 

Bucky smiles at him and sidles up next to him. “Oh c’mere,” he whispers and kisses him briefly. Steve melts into the touch, tired and adrenaline pumping. Bucky pulls away with a wink. “Let’s go home, slowpoke.” 

They walk back side by side to their brownstone. Bucky takes Steve’s wallet to go inside and buy some iced teas to sip on as they stroll back. It’s been at least two hours by the time they make it home. 

Peter’s still on the couch, but he’s changed from his pajamas and he’s got his laptop beside him. There’s a package of Oreos and three crushed Coke cans on the coffee table, and Bucky guesses the root beer on the coaster is what Peter’s working on now. 

“Oh, hey!” Peter says, and Rocky bolts from his spot to jump at Bucky’s legs. 

“Hey baby boy!” Bucky scoops him up. “Did they behave?” 

Peter nods. “Oh, yeah. They went out like thirty minutes ago.” 

“Good,” Steve says. 

Peter points at the TV. “This show is really good.” 

“Huh. I’ll add it to my Netflix queue,” Bucky says, peeling out of his gloves once he’s put Rocky back down on the couch. 

Steve tosses their finished iced teas out, and he heads upstairs. 

Bucky teases, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, “He’s a little sore that I beat him.” 

Peter’s eyes get really wide, excited he’s being let in on this moment. “You’re faster than him?” 

Bucky shrugs. “I guess I had a lucky run.” He huffs. “Alright, well, we’ll go freshen up. We can go to the museum after we get some lunch?” 

Peter nods, “Okay!” 

Bucky heads upstairs and makes sure the door is locked to their bedroom. He knows Peter wouldn’t come up, but it just makes him feel better. 

Steve’s already in the shower, so Bucky strips off to join him. 

“Mm,” he moans in relief as the spray hits his back. Steve rinses suds from his hair by dipping into the stream and backs out quickly so Bucky can take up more of it. 

Steve presses up against his back and shampoos his hair up wordlessly. Bucky’s head lolls back on Steve’s shoulder, and he grabs a bar of soap and starts lathering up his chest aimlessly. “You already washed up, baby?” he whispers to Steve. He’s got a problem poking at Bucky’s tailbone, and Bucky snorts. 

Steve’s problem gives a tentative thrust. “Mm.” 

“You needin’ me sweetheart?” he says softly. 

Steve nods, kissing up his neck. “Yeah.” 

“Oh, sweetie,” Bucky rasps. “Ain’t that a shame?” 

Steve mumbles an inquisitive, “Huh?” as Bucky pulls away with a Downright Evil glint in his eyes. 

Bucky rinses his hair with a tilted smile before crooning, “Darling, he’ll hear us. Wasn’t it you that said he’s got better hearing than we do?” He twists some water from his hair. “It’ll echo.” 

Steve’s problem deflates as he realizes Bucky’s saying 'no'. Not because he doesn’t want Steve to hold him up against the shower wall and pump into him. He’s just being a karma-giving dickhead. “Wow.” 

Bucky shrugs all casual and smirks. “Rub my back for me?” he offers the bar of soap. 

He takes the soap and dutifully foams up Bucky’s back, purposefully avoiding his lower half.

*

Just as they’re fixing to head out, Barnes get an alert on his phone.

“Oh,” he says, reading it. Peter looks at Steve, trying to figure out if they need to spring into action.

“What is it?” Steve asks, and Barnes hands him the phone. He reads it then sighs. “Ah, got it.” 

Barnes explains, “Well, kid I was looking forward to going with you two, but I got something to take care of. I’ll have to stay here.” 

Peter looks between the two of them. “Is it serious?” 

Barnes shakes his head. “No, no. Well, yeah. But, not for you or Steve to do. I have to, um, do some work upstairs.” 

Peter catches his drift. “Oh. Okay.” 

“Steve’s better company to have at a museum than me, so you’re not missing out,” Barnes insists. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I better head up.” 

Barnes heads upstairs right after, and Peter looks at Steve for orders. “Well, if it’s just the two of us, we probably can stick together. I’ll put on my glasses.” 

“Do you need glasses?” Peter asks. 

Steve laughs, and he’s grabbing a pair of thick glasses from a drawer by the front door. “No. They’re clear lenses. It just helps with the disguise.” 

“Okay, neat.” 

Steve puts on a baseball cap, and he hands another one to Peter. “You two behave,” he tells the dogs as he walks out the door with Peter right behind. Outside, they start walking. “We can stop somewhere to eat.” 

“Is Sergeant Barnes gonna be okay?” Peter asks, looking at his feet as they walk. 

Steve nods. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. Sometimes he gets assignments to do some encryption, translating, or well, _hacking_.” 

“Huh,” Peter says. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He points at a block full of restaurants. “If you see anywhere you wanna eat, we’ll eat there.”

*

He takes Peter to lunch at a Mexican restaurant. They munch mindlessly through two trays of chips and salsa before they even order their entrees.

“Is it, like, okay if I ask you a question?” Peter asks. He’s got his thumb over the top of his straw and when he raises it from his Coke and takes the thumb away, the drink comes right out. 

“Sure,” Steve says, sitting up straight. 

“Were you and Sergeant Barnes always a couple? In Berlin, I mean?” he asks, nervously breaking a chip in half. 

Steve smiles softly and shakes his head. “No, we weren’t.” 

“How long then, I mean...not to pry?” Peter starts, stuttering slightly. 

“It was in Wakanda and before we got our status as fugitives crossed off. Somewhere in between then where I first started realizing how my feelings for him affected me.” 

“Affected you?” Peter asks.

Steve clears his throat. “Being with him was always better than when he wasn’t around. I figured that, unconsciously, I was disappointed in a way when he wasn’t with me. I was happier around him. I looked forward to spending time with him. I missed him when we weren’t together. Then, I started to reflect on what he meant to me. It took me long, yes, but I knew that I loved him. More than just as a friend. He felt the same way.” 

“Oh. So, but you’re still best friends? Like being in a relationship doesn’t mean you can’t be like cool with each other?” Peter asks, blushing a little.

Steve nods. “We are still best friends. The dynamic and the extent of our friendship goes further than my friendship with Sam Wilson for example. With me and Buck, we’re still friends but we uh, have two dogs and a mortgage. And we’re, y’know, romantic.” 

Peter chews the inside of his cheek. “Like, if I _theoretically_ wanted to ask a friend of mine to like get dinner with me, it won’t change everything? Because, what if she says no? And we lose the entire friendship?” 

Steve frowns. “You should tell this “theoretical” friend how you feel. It might make things awkward, but wouldn’t they be anyway? If you hide your true feelings, it will impact the friendship even if you think it won’t. The worst thing that can happen is she refuses and things get tense. But, the best thing that can happen? She might feel the same way. How else are you going to know if you don’t ask? It’ll do you no good if you assume to know what someone feels. You’ll have to ask," he says. “Theoretically, of course.” 

Peter finishes his soda and lets the straw suck at the ice, making a loud sound. “Is that what you did with Sergeant Barnes? You told him how you felt? And everything just...worked itself out from there?” 

Steve smiles again. “Yeah, Peter. That’s it.” 

Peter nods, taking in this information. “So, theoretically, tonight...it might be a good idea to just, uh, let it all out?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I think you should give it a shot.” 

Peter scrunches his nose, and he blushes some more. “Thanks, Steve.” 

“Of course,” he insists. “If you ever need any advice, I’m happy to give some.” 

Peter tries to stop scrunching his nose to get his blush to subside. "Okay. Cool." 

They eat their lunch, and Steve and Peter walk to the museum. They go different ways: Peter takes selfies with the art and exhibit pieces while Steve walks around to admire it all alone. 

Reflecting on his recent conversation with Peter, Steve's feeling sentimental and gushy. He texts Bucky: "I love you honey." Just because he can. 

Bucky must still be still working because he doesn’t get a quick response that Bucky usually delivers. He pockets his phone and stands in the gallery, absorbing the history around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Saturday is coming up! I think I'm coming out of my Post-EG slump, so I should be updating more frequently.


	5. Saturday: Part Two

*

Saturday 

Part Two 

Steve lets them into the house. Rocky leaps at their feet, unsure who to greet fist. He excitedly trots around Peter’s shoes then does the same to Steve’s until he remembers again that Peter’s here. He’s so lovingly conflicted. Peter lifts him up and holds him. He gets some licks for his efforts.

It’s only a quarter to three, and Peter was planning to start getting dressed around six. The dance is at eight. There’s no need to start worrying about it just yet. 

“You two probably need to go outside, huh?” Steve asks Missy, who just blinks up at him. Rocky gets excited in Peter’s hold, so he deposits Rocky back to the ground so he can bolt and hop at the outside door. Steve lets him out, and Missy, with some persistent coaxing, follows after. “Outside, good girl.” 

Steve kicks off his shoes, and he hangs his jacket. “Uh,” he starts, and he hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go check on Buck...if you wouldn’t mind letting them back in?”

“I got it.” 

Steve smiles. “And you know where the treat jar is?” 

“Third shelf in the pantry.” 

“Thanks, Peter.” He heads upstairs. Peter can hear him knock on the office door on the top floor and the door clicking shut. He can’t hear anything else; Barnes must have made it sound-proof. 

Peter helps himself to a can of Coke and stuffs some more Oreos into his face. It was a long walk back home from the museum, and he’s still a little stuffed from going hard in the chips and salsa and his carne asada bowl at lunch, but Oreos? Peter’s stomach can always fit a little room for those glorious vessels of chocolate and icing. 

Rocky hops at the door, so he lets them back in. He gives them a treat, and he joins Missy in retreating back to the living area. He plops back on the couch, and she curls up back in her bed to enjoy her treat. 

His phone buzzes. “getting dressed yet? ft???” May asks. 

Peter Facetimes her. She’s getting ready for the wedding that starts in a few hours. She models the green dress she had packed as an alternative since the pink one is “just, too summery you know?” and Peter validates and praises her as she twirls around to show him. 

“Why are you getting ready so early?” he asks. “It starts at eight, right? The time zones are the same.” 

“Yeah, but there’s some cocktails and pictures beforehand. Then there’s the reception at nine, so I gotta eat before I go in,” May explains. She’s propped the camera next to her vanity, and Peter watches as she applies mascara. “Is that too much?” 

“Nope, you look great,” he insists. “You should stop while you’re ahead!” 

“Hon, my hair’s still wrapped in the towel!” 

“Oh, really? I thought it was a hat,” Peter jokes, and May flaps her hands dismissively in a teasing way. 

There’s a knock at May’s hotel door, and she startles. “Oh, some friends are here. Marnie brought this fancy hair straightener, and we all wanna try it. You text me photos when you’re all dressed up, okay?” 

“Will do,” Peter swears, and he crosses his heart. “Have fun, May. I love you!” 

She blows a kiss, and he catches it, rubs it into his cheek, and he throws one back at her. “Love you, Peter.” She hangs up. 

He’s genuinely thrilled she’s having fun. May goes out with girlfriends maybe once every month or so, but she’s usually tired after work. It’s warming to see her in her element and having fun. Being excited. Peter’s happy she’s there. 

For a few minutes, he scrolls on his Instagram. He took a bunch of photos and selfies in front of some exhibits for his story, and he wants to see if Michelle’s looked at it. Not because he took the photos with her in mind, _of course_. 

“bro did u literally go to museum so u’d have a talking point with mj???” Ned sends him, literally ten seconds later. 

Peter squawks and types back an indignant--- if one could convey tone in a text-- reply right back, “lol what??? no ???” 

Ned sends him back a stream of crying-laughing emojis. 

The door upstairs creaks open, and Peter listens to two pairs of footsteps descend.

“I’ll go get some lunch. Take a breather,” he hears Barnes whisper, but Peter can still hear him perfectly fine. “The kid’s down there?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says back just as un-effectively quiet. “We had a good time.” 

Peter busies himself with his phone to not seem obviously snoopy by the time they’re all the way down. Rocky ditches Peter for Barnes, and Barnes dutifully scoops him up so the dog can lick at his face. 

“How about I take these two for a W-A-L-K?” Barnes says. Missy apparently can spell because her ears perk up. “Yeah? Missy girl, does that sound fun? Go get some lunch with your brother and me?” 

Missy rises from her bed and walks to the rack by the front door where the leashes are hanging. She’s wagging her tail, and when she sits it looks like a windshield blade wiping the floor. Missy looks very expectantly at Barnes. 

“Better step to, Buck,” Steve says. “Best not keep a lady waiting.” 

“You have a good time, Peter?” Barnes asks as he fits Rocky into his walking harness. He’s patient with the squirming dog, but Missy seems to glare at her brother for wasting time. 

“Yes sir, I saw a bunch of cool stuff.” 

He clips on Missy’s leash and pulls on his coat and gloves. “I’ll be back soon.” 

Barnes heads out with the dogs tugging him eagerly out the door. 

Steve sways a bit against the counter. “Y’know that computer I told your aunt about? The one that needs fixing?” 

Peter nods his head. He’s got three Oreos in his mouth, so he probably looks like a bobble head chipmunk. “Mhph.” 

“Think you could help me figure out what’s wrong with it?” 

He swallows. “Is it like, the software or the device?” 

Steve scrunches his eyebrows. “Both?”

Peter shrugs. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

*

Peter only takes fifteen minutes to diagnose then fix his laptop.

Steve’s not sure what he did exactly, but he’s really grateful for it. Peter talked in a rapid tech lingo that Steve wasn’t going to pretend to understand, but the kid sure knew his stuff. 

He’d asked Bucky to help him figure it out, but Bucky would just laugh at him very lovingly for being pretty illiterate in computers. The poor laptop’d been collecting dust under their bed, but now it sits back on his side, charging. 

Steve sends a photo of it to Bucky, and Bucky sends back a photo of Missy sitting by his feet at what looks like an outdoor patio of wherever he’s eating. He sends another of Rocky in his lap. 

His heart swells up just a little bit. He saves them to his photo album for safekeeping. 

“Gonna run to dog store for a bit. We need more greenies. The Priss has requested it” Bucky sends him. 

The Priss goes through one Greenie a day. Her teeth were in rough shape when they first got her, and she’s already had to have some pulled by the vet. Missy doesn’t openly _like_ things, but she does seem to enjoy her daily chew. Steve would never deny her one of the only pleasures she has. 

“I also might take them out longer for their walk” Bucky adds. 

“You sure?” Steve types back. “I can do it tonite?” 

He watches the bubble as Bucky writes back, “Well I might have us a little busy tonight…” 

Oh. 

Message received. 

“Yes. Please walk them” Steve sends him back quickly. 

“10-4” Bucky responds. Steve can picture Bucky giving him a cocky salute. All smiley and teasing. 

Steve hopes he’s not blushing. He really hopes he isn’t.

Before he tucks his phone back into his pocket, Bucky adds, “& by the way, ask the kid about tonite :)” 

“I can wait until you are home” Steve insists. 

He’d been hoping Bucky would lead the interrogation. He’s better at it. Well, that and the fact that Steve, deep inside, still wants to be Cool and Hip. You can’t be super cool if you’re acting like the square from those educational videos SHIELD’s publicity department insisted he film right after the Battle of New York. He can’t cash in on his Hip Status if he’s the one being super un-hip. 

“Honey” is all Bucky replies, and that’s a point taken. 

“Fine” he types back and then sighs. 

Steve is goddamn Captain America. He can ask some honest questions to a teenager. It is not that hard. He braces himself at the top step. 

Peter’s still on the couch downstairs, and he’s finishing up the Oreos.

“So, tonight” Steve starts, and he doesn’t mean to use his Authoritative Voice. It just comes out, and Peter quickly turns to face him like he’s standing at attention. It’s the same voice he used when he turned a chair around before he sat in it for those informational videos. “What’s the gameplan?” 

Peter knits his brows together. “The dance starts at eight, so I’ll start getting ready at like, sevenish.” 

“Do you need a ride?” Steve clarifies. 

“Oh, I was gonna call an Uber or something.” 

Steve narrows his eyes. “Well, what about after? Something about a penthouse party?” 

Peter turns a little red. “Oh that? Didn’t work out.” 

“So you’re gonna come right back after the dance ends?” 

Peter gulps. “Well, I mean I was planning to go hang out with friends after.” He turns a little pink and scratches behind his neck. “I’m looking forward to some good clean fun.” 

“Uh huh” Steve says. “Some ‘good clean fun.’” 

Steve stares at Peter for just a moment before he finally cracks. “Well, I might go to a party. After.” 

The stare continues. 

“I mean, I obviously will not drink or anything! Like, alcohol doesn’t work on me!” he stammers. “Well, I mean I _assume_ alcohol doesn’t work on me because I’ve never drank a drop in my entire life because I am underage and I respect the law but I guess drugs won’t affect me. Not that I’d do any drugs. Even though they won’t affect me. As I assume. Theoretically.” 

It’s kind of pitiful, really. 

Steve grants him mercy. “Peter, we’re not here to dampen your night,” Steve starts. “We trust you to be responsible. But, we will need you to give us updates on your location. And, if any trouble comes your way you need to call us. Immediately.” 

Peter nods his head. “Yes, sir. Steve.” 

Now that this is over with, Steve loosens up. “Well, you’ve still got plenty of time. What’s this Netflix show you’re watching?” he heads over to Bucky’s recliner and settles down. Steve will sit in the Lazy Boy as much as he damn well pleases if he’s the one who had to risk his Coolness and Hipness. 

Peter’s eyes light up. “I’ll pull it up!” 

Steve types a quick “I did it” to Bucky.

“K” is all he gets back. 

He’s so goddamn infuriating. Steve loves him so much.

* 

“Someone has been bad,” Barnes announces as he steps through the front door.

“What?” Steve squawks, and Peter mutes the TV. They’d made it through two episodes, and Steve’s sort of grasping what’s going on. “What’s happened?” 

Missy primly walks her way in while Barnes is holding the wet, muddy culprit in his arms. Probably to keep him from trailing it in with his little paws. “Someone decided to splash around in a puddle, and now he has to have a B-A-T-H.” 

“Rocky!” Steve admonishes softly. “You didn’t!” 

“Oh yes he did,” Barnes sighs, and he plops the guilty offender on the kitchen counter next to the sink. “Steve, will you unleash the princess?” 

Steve hefts himself off the recliner to assist Missy and give her a treat while Barnes turns on the sink’s tap, checks the water’s temperature, and rummages in a cupboard for shampoo. 

“He takes a bath in the sink?” Peter asks, watching Rocky cowering, coming to terms with his fate. 

“Well, he fits, and it’s easier to clean up,” Barnes explains, removing Rocky’s harness and leash. “You gotta stop shaking, bud. You should have known better, and now you have to face the consequences.” 

“Need me to get a towel?” Steve asks, already heading upstairs. 

“Get one from the stack above the dryer,” Barnes directs, and he plops Rocky into the sink. “Oh stop it, you poor thing.” 

Peter watches Missy curl back up in her bed like nothing’s going on. She must have had a nice walk because she’s panting, almost looking like she’s smiling. Peter tries to sneak a quick picture, but she catches him doing it. Her unamused look shakes Peter to his core. 

Steve assists Barnes in washing off Rocky and then fluffs him up when he’s done. 

“Look at him go!” Steve says once Rocky’s safely deposited to the floor. 

Rocky’s doing post-bath zoomies. He’s running in circles around the kitchen and couch before he starts rubbing on his back on the carpet in front of Peter. “You’re so fast!” Peter tells him. 

Rocky zooms off again. 

Barnes looks down at his wet and muddied shirt, and he sighs. “I’m gonna go change. Again. I might go call Nat too, make sure everything’s good.” He points at Rocky before he heads up, “Don’t do anything funny, pal.” 

Steve plops back down in the recliner, and Peter rewinds the show. 

By the time Barnes is back downstairs, the episode’s over. Peter catches Barnes give Steve a raised brow once he notices Steve’s in the recliner. Barnes settles down on the other side of the couch, and Rocky climbs into his lap. “When did you want to start getting ready?” he asks as the credits roll before the next episode plays. 

Peter glances down at his phone to check the time. It’s still too early. “After the next episode finishes,” he guesses. 

Barnes props his feet up on the coffee table. “Well, let’s watch it.”

* 

“What’s that look for, huh?” Bucky asks, smirking, lolling his head to the side.

Peter, true to his word, headed upstairs after the episode finished. 

The second the pipes squeaked upstairs, Steve started giving him A Look. 

“Nothin’,” Steve lies obviously. “Nothing at all.” 

“Mhm,” Bucky hums. Even though they’d turned the TV off once Peter went up, Bucky stares right at it. “Sure.” 

Steve isn’t saying anything, but the look he’s sending Bucky’s way is louder, more clear-cut than anything he could say. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Bucky warns. 

“Think about what?” 

“Honey.” 

“What is it?” 

“We’re not doing anything,” Bucky says. “Not when the kid’s in the house. Not in the living room. Not in front of the Miss Priss and the baby boy. Nope. No.” 

Steve blinks at him slowly, and his lips pucker a little. “Can I have just a little bit of something?” 

Bucky sighs like it’s a goddamn chore. He pats his thighs. “Get over here.” 

All smug and pleased, Steve makes his way from Bucky’s recliner over to drop in Bucky’s lap. 

Steve fixes his hands in Bucky’s hair, but Bucky keeps his hands to himself. If he starts grabbing, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop. As much as he wants to squeeze Steve’s ass and rub his hand up under his shirt, Bucky can’t do anything disgraceful in Missy’s presence. 

“Baby,” Steve whispers against his lips, and Bucky’s fingers clench the couch cushions. 

“Insatiable,” Bucky bemoans, and Steve bites his upper lip. 

Later, when the shower squeaks off, Steve rolls off Bucky’s lap and slinks back into the recliner as though nothing happened. Bucky recollects himself by going to the kitchen and splashing water on his face. 

“Bring me a beer?” Steve asks all nonchalant, knowing he’s got Bucky wrapped around his pretty big ass fingers. 

Bucky grabs him a bottle and flicks off the cap, and -- while maintaining direct eye contact -- he chugs the whole thing down in a few gulps. He wipes the back of his hand against his mouth and sighs out a nice “ah.” 

Steve gives him a pouty kind of look, so Bucky grabs another two bottles and swings back over to the couch. “Turn the TV back on. It’ll look weird if we’re sitting here like this without it even on.” 

“You already look weird,” Steve points out, and he grabs the remote.

* 

Peter replays the YouTube video for the fifth time, and he still can’t follow along.

It’s ridiculous. He can shoot webs from his goddamn wrists, has superhuman senses, and is a pseudo-Avenger, but for the life of him, he cannot tie this forsaken tie. 

It was one thing when May was around to help. He remembers mornings when Uncle Ben would come into the living room in the morning, and May would abandon her morning news program, tut teasingly, and fix his lopsided tie. 

“Are you kidding me!” he rants, and he flops onto the bed in despair. 

He’s so blinded by his grave misfortune he doesn’t hear a supersoldier come all the way upstairs until there’s a knock at the door. 

Peter shoots a web at the knob and tugs it, so the door opens. Barnes is standing in the doorway, assessing the situation. 

“You need help with that?” Barnes asks, staring pointedly at the tie. 

“Well, I mean, if you wouldn’t mind,” Peter stammers. “That’d be cool.” 

Barnes beckons him over, and Peter goes absolutely still while Barnes corrects his tie. 

“Very dapper,” he mutters, standing back to check on his work. 

“Thanks,” Peter says. “And, Sergeant Barnes, sir?” 

“Mm?” 

“This, uh, might be a weird question, but do you know how to use hair gel?” 

“Hair gel?” Barnes narrows his eyes. “You mean pomade? Kid, in the forties I about bathed in it.” 

“Oh,” Peter squeaks. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you show me how to slick my hair back?” 

Barnes cracks a tiny smile. “Sure, kid. Lemme go get some of the really good stuff from my bathroom. Hang tight.” 

The Winter Soldier styles his hair and gives him a nod of approval once he’s finished his work. “If I said you were dapper before, you’re out of the ballpark now, pal.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Peter stammers, blushing a bit. “I know you’re with Captain Rogers and stuff, but did the ladies, I mean, women, in the forties like hair like this?” 

Barnes gives a raspy laugh. “Yeah, pal. They did.” 

“That’s cool,” Peter says, and he blushes just thinking about MJ seeing him. “I mean, like, I’m not trying to impress anyone tonight. I just thought it would be a nice look. For myself. And it is. Thank you.” 

Barnes gives him an amused look, and he hooks his metal thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I’ll be downstairs. Holler if you need anymore help; if you wallow on your bed again, you’ll mess up the hair.” 

Peter nods, and he takes the next few minutes to practice his totally chill and cool greetings. “Hi Michelle. MJ. You look really good. I mean you always look good. Wanna dance? I’m not nervous. I’m not nervous at all. I have superpowers. I have fought in actual fights. This is not scary. Hi MJ. Nice hair. I mean, you look nice.” Peter sighs. 

He might have to ask Barnes for some pointers. 

But first, he Facetimes May. “You look so handsome, hon. Look at your hair! Very suave.” She turns to someone off camera. “Hey, girls! Come look at Peter. He looks really handsome!” 

A bunch of nice ladies hover around May and take turns oohing and ahing, and Peter blushes the whole time.

* 

Before Peter leaves, Steve makes sure to snap some photos of Peter in front of their fireplace to text to May. It seems like a nice gesture, and she sends back a quick “thank you!!!!” Steve’s glad he did it.

Peter nervously asks Bucky for some tips on cold-asking someone to dance. Bucky takes the task very seriously and gives Peter many different options to choose from. 

Steve watches the whole time, endeared.

They give Peter a pep talk while he waits for the Uber, and they have him sit on the couch to pet Rocky to help calm his nerves. 

“Alright,” Peter says, chewing the inside of his mouth. “I’m off. I’ll text you where I am.” 

“Have a good night, Peter!” Steve calls after him, and Bucky insists Peter will “Knock ‘em dead!” 

Bucky stands outside to watch as Peter hops into the car, and Steve hovers by the window. 

Once the car’s out of sight, Bucky heads back inside. 

“Well,” Bucky says, and he turns on the alarm. “Kid’s out for a bit.” He flops down on the couch, and he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach. “Wonder what we’ll do to pass the time.” 

Steve assesses the room. Missy chews on her fresh Greenie, and Rocky’s burrowing himself in the pile of blankets Peter’d been sitting on. 

The coast is finally clear. 

“Wanna make out?” Steve waggles his brows. “For real.” 

Bucky lolls his head to the side and looks at him. “Mm.” He splays his legs and pats this thigh. “Get on back over here.” 

Steve crawls into his lap. 

They make out for a little while until they’re both very needy. 

“What you wanting, huh?” Bucky murmurs, kissing on Steve’s neck. 

“You,” is all Steve manages. Bucky smiles into their kiss. “Now.” 

“And how do you want me?” he asks, and Steve groans all annoyed and sweet. 

Miss Priss whines. They both freeze and turn to look at her. She’s looking at the two of them with typical lack of amusement. She whistles high through her nose again. 

“Go on upstairs,” Bucky whispers. He gives Steve’s ass a parting love squeeze and waits for him to get up. “Let me tend to the Grump. Go and get ready.” Steve keeps pawing at Bucky’s chest. “Go on. I’ll meet you up there, slow poke.” 

Bucky doesn’t mean to tease, but he loves the flustered pinkness that spreads all over Steve during moments like this. He’ll never tire of it. Steve gives him a shy little look over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs, already tugging off his shirt. 

“Well,” Bucky says to Missy, and he goes to stand in front of her. She is unbothered. “Your Daddy and I are gonna be upstairs for bit. But I must first address your needs. You’ve had your dinner. You’ve been outside an adequate amount of times. Your water bowl is full. It’s not time for your medicine. You have a nice new bone. What can possibly be wrong?” 

Missy looks up at him, and her big brown eyes give away nothing. She nose whistles. 

“Do you need to go outside?” Bucky offers. When she has to go, her ears perk up, and she’ll start heading to the door. She does not do that. “Okay, then.” 

She whines. 

Bucky looks around, grappling to figure out what’s distressing the Grump. “Should I change the channel? Is that it?” 

Even though he knows that’s not “it,” he does so anyway. He flicks on some newscast and raises a brow. She does not appreciate the gesture. 

Bucky sighs all heavy, and he gets on his knees. Missy rolls onto her side, and Bucky gives her a belly rub. She can get very needy sometimes when she usually prefers to be left alone. He coos at her a little bit, and her tail wags slightly. 

“Is that what you wanted?” he asks her, running his hand over her fur. “You want some attention all of a sudden, Miss Priss? Saw your other daddy getting attention from me, and you wanted some for yourself? Huh?” 

She licks her nose. He rubs a good spot, and her leg twitches. 

“Yeah? That’s a good place to scratch?” Bucky agrees. He indulges in giving her some tactile affection. She’s not a lap dog or eager to cuddle. Bucky does not blame her for that; no one knows what Missy endured her first nine years before she arrived at the shelter. Bucky knows a thing or two about rough pasts and the desire to be left alone. “I love you, sweet girl. My Miss Priss.” 

He gives her one final pat down before he stands up. She curls back up in her bed, satisfied. Just because he’s feeling sappy that she wanted some love, he goes to the pantry and takes two treats from the jar. He breaks up one in front of the spot Rocky’s nose pokes out from under his burrow of blankets before he leaves one by Missy’s mouth as an offering, a token of appreciation that she allowed him the privilege to stroke her fur. She gracefully accepts. “Alright. Now I’m going upstairs. Behave.” 

Steve’s already on the bed, undressed and fucking himself with his fingers. “I’m the slowpoke?” he grits out from his teeth. “Thought you bout forgot about me, honey.”

Bucky blows out heavy and starts kicking out of his pants. “She wanted attention,” he explains. “But I guess my other princess wants some, too?” 

Steve groans. “C’mere. Now.” 

Bucky knows better than to keep a pushy sweetheart waiting.

*

Peter ended up arriving at the same time as Ned and Betty. He’d been worried that the drive from Brooklyn would have him coming in later than everyone else, but it seems he’s coming in right as the party’s gotten started.

Ned’s tie and Betty’s dress are color-coordinated to the periwinkle?purple? palette Ned had described earlier. They’re arm in arm, and Ned’s beaming. 

“Bro, look at your hair!” he gushes. He turns to Betty. “Don’t you really want to just ruffle it up?” 

“Just a little,” Betty says, and she tugs Ned inside. 

The auditorium’s pretty full. The DJ’s playing some top 40 hit. There are some fake poker tables where some teachers are acting as card-dealers. Ned is already jamming on the dance floor. 

And Michelle….

“Hey, Parker,” she says, sidling up next to him. She’s wearing a black suit with a red shirt. She’s got her hair tied back in a bun. She’s wearing eye liner. She’s breathtaking. 

“Oh, wow,” Peter says, out loud. She raises a brow. 

“This punch is good,” Peter says as a saver, even though he doesn’t have any punch with him. It’s as though his mind has erased anything helpful Barnes advised him on earlier. “I like the punch.” 

Michelle narrows her eyes a bit. “Okay.” 

“Would you like to get some punch?” Peter asks, pointing at the refreshments table. “I can get you some punch. It is good.” 

“Sure,” she says slowly. She looks over her shoulder and raises her brow again. “Wanna go play blackjack?” 

Peter has no idea how to play. “Yes.” 

She nods and heads over to the table. Coach is the dealer, and Flash is moaning about losing a portion of his chips. 

“Be cool, be cool,” Peter repeats, as he ladles some punch into two cups. “Be cool.”

*

“Mmf,” Steve grunts, fixing himself on his stomach. Well, more like an uncommitted all fours. Something like that.

“Uh huh,” Bucky agrees. He fixes himself between Steve’s legs. He whistles all low to see how Steve’s blush spreads from his shoulders down to his ass. He gives one cheek a little smack to see it jiggle. His dick slots between crack of his ass and he thrusts a little, watches his balls hit the cheeks. 

“Honey” Steve huffs and he pushes his ass back. _Get on with it._

Buck takes his dick in his own hand and strokes it again. He grabs the bottle of lube next to Steve’s knees and drizzles some more on his dick and rubs it. The slick sound of his hand sliding against the skin makes Steve impatient, hungry. Like a Pavlovian response. He pushes his ass back again. 

“You got somewhere to be?” Bucky drawls, capping the lube and tossing it back on the bed. He bends over Steve and whispers in his ear. “Huh?” He place his metal hand on Steve’s right breast and squeezes. “We on a schedule?” 

“I’m gonna fucking leave you I swear to god,” Steve grumbles and he pushes back again. “I’m gonna leave you. I’m gonna.” 

“Uh huh?” Bucky says all sweet like Steve’s impatience endears him. “You gonna leave me?” he croons as he pushes in. “Gonna leave me, baby?” 

Steve scrambles his hand in the sheets, trying to keep himself upright. “Oh, Buck.” He moans high and sweet, and he raises his neck so Bucky can kiss at it some more. Bucky thrusts slowly until he’s seated fully against Steve’s ass. 

“Mhm,” Bucky soothes, and he peppers some kisses on the back of his neck. “That’s it.” 

“Bucky, honey,” he whispers, lifting a hand and reaching behind to stroke the shell of Buck’s ear. “Honey.” 

“It’s me. Me and you,” Bucky tells him. There’s a swelling in his gut. He wants to be sweet, and he wants to dominate. He wants him. He loves him. “Baby.” 

Steve exhales, and Bucky notices the tightness in Steve’s jaw. “You good?” he makes sure. He needs to be sure Steve’s ready and still wanting it. “It’s okay?” 

Steve sighs all sweet, and his thumb tugs at Bucky’s ear lobe. “Real good. Real good, Buck.” 

Bucky nestles his hips in a little tighter and gives a tentative thrust. 

“And you?” Steve asks as Bucky cups his chest, feels his ribs expanding with his heavy breaths. “Feels good?” 

Buck nods and licks over Steve’s jugular. “Mhm.” _It always does._

Steve pets his hair for a moment longer before turning his head and pouting his lips. Buck licks over his lips before kissing him. He starts to move now, sure that Steve’s adjusted and ready to be fucked. 

“Oh,” Steve mumbles against Buck’s lips, and he drops his hand back onto the bed so he can cling to it with both. Like his super serum can’t help him now. He drops his head away, his chin touching his chest. “Oh, god.” 

Buck noticed that Steve tends to breathe from his nose during the beginning of sex. It isn’t until it gets really going that he starts to pant from his mouth. 

Steve drops his position and flops on the bed. His toes curl against the sheets, slightly kicking his heel against Buck’s foot. He muffles a moan into the comforter. 

“Lemme just hold you, I’ll hold you then,” Buck murmurs, and he rolls Steve to his side. Steve whimpers a bit, and Buck tightens his hold around his waist. “Keep you nice and close to me.” 

Steve lolls his head, and he looks up at Buck from the corner of his eye. “Yeah,” he croaks out. 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. He sneaks some kisses against the side of his head. “Mhm.” 

“I wanna,” Steve starts, and Bucky stops. 

“What you wantin’?” 

Steve fucks back then pauses. “Lemme lie down. Get on top of me.” 

Bucky shoves off, and Steve rolls onto his back. “Like this?” 

“Yeah, just like that,” Steve sighs, all soft. He closes his eyes, and his head hits the pillow. “Just like that.” 

Bucky doesn’t mind missionary. It doesn’t white-out his mind like it does for Steve. But looking down at him, all loose and easy, so enamored and lustful...Bucky’s not one to complain. 

It’s fucking _hot._

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles, and he starts fucking Steve again. “Yeah, baby.” 

Steve, feeling all bold and hot, spanks Buck’s ass. “Buck.” 

Bucky coils and snarls at him. “What you smacking my ass for, huh? Huh? You feeling all fresh?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he does it again. 

“Mhm?” Buck hums, and he nips Steve’s lip. He bites it, tugs it tight. “Who you thinkin' you are, huh? Huh? Who you thinkin' you are?” He pumps his hips hard and mean. Steve spanks him again, and he licks his lips, cocky. “Riling me up and all.” 

Steve keeps his eyes shut, and his hands squeeze and knead at Bucky’s lower back. “I want it.” 

“Oh, I know you do. Imma give it to you. Give you anythin’ you want, baby.” Bucky hoists up Steve’s hips higher, and he holds on tight to his thighs. “Anything.” 

“You’d knock me up?” 

Bucky groans. “Yeah, you want that?” 

“Gimme.” 

“I’m bout there, you’re getting me there, I promise. Steve, honey you’re so sexy,” Bucky murmurs sweet in his ear. 

Steve crosses his ankles at the small of Bucky’s back. “Gimme.” 

Bucky clenches his teeth, and he cums deep up inside him. “Oh. Oh, honey.” Steve sighs and follows right after, clinging to Bucky’s thigh and shoulder. “That’s it. That’s it, honey.” 

They hold each other for a while, lazily kissing and rubbing until Steve’s stomach rumbles.

Bucky laughs, and he rolls over onto his back. 

Steve hums. “That was nice, honey,” he says, breathless. 

“You want some dinner?” Bucky asks.

Steve seems to think about it for a second. “Can we go another round?”

Bucky nods. “Of course we can.” 

Steve spreads his legs again, and he bites his lip. He doesn’t have to say anything else. 

Bucky rolls back on top of him and gets to work. 

Afterwards, they clean up and throw on some sweats. Steve calls in some wings and pizza, and Bucky gives Missy her medication disguised as a treat.

“Who’s playin’ tonight?” Bucky asks, settling onto the couch. Steve scoots in close, and he puts his arm around Bucky’s shoulder.

“Not sure.” Steve hands him the remote, and Bucky flicks though the channels. 

Bucky finally lands on some poker tournament, and he wiggles a bit to get comfortable. 

“I think we’re doing okay,” Bucky rasps. “Y’know. With the kid. He’s a good kid.” 

Steve rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah, Buck. He is. I think we’re doing a good job, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive!!! 
> 
> Still having some road bumps with my writing ever since EG. SATURDAY originally was going to be two-parts, but I decided I'd rather post this and add the rest later than have you wait any longer than you have. 
> 
> Thanks for you patience. A lot of factors are making it hard for me to write, but I promise i won't give up on this fic. It's cathartic but emotionally draining. I love it, but I struggle. I don't have a beta or anyone to really nudge me to write. It's sometimes hard to motivate myself to write when I'm still so upset about EG and other happenings outside of Marvel. 
> 
> But I'm not giving up. I am more stubborn that Steve and Bucky combined. Maybe more so than Miss Priss. 
> 
> Coming up: Peter asks MJ for a dance, and the Super Soldiers' night is flipped upside down.


End file.
